Manchester Jones and the Golden Curse
by Crystal Rose of Pollux
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple rock festival, but our heroes find themselves as magnets for trouble when they get involved with ancient relics and the forbidden secret attached to them...
1. She's Goin' Out With Rico

_Notes: the characters aren't mine (except for the OCs) and the story is! After the emotional roller coaster of my last fic, I'm taking a breather with this comparatively lighthearted adventure fic—please excuse the slow start, as I want to build up to the action this time, rather than start in the middle of the action. Anything that looks like a reference to a certain song from the Pool It album is intentional_.

* * *

It was nearly eleven in the morning when Mike awoke. He groaned inwardly as he realized that most of the entire morning had gone. Of course, he couldn't blame his bandmates for letting him sleep in. Mike had been suffering from insomnia for the past few weeks and had only recently started sleeping again; the others would, naturally, have insisted upon letting him catch up on his lost sleep.

After changing into some appropriate day wear and resting his wool hat on his tousled hair, Mike headed downstairs, surprised to see the Pad empty except for Micky, who was skimming through the TV channels while drinking a cup of coffee.

"Morning," the brunet called.

"What's left of it, anyway," the Texan mused. "Where is everyone?"

"Davy had a lunch date, and Pete went out to finally get that electronic keyboard he's had his heart set on," Micky relayed.

Mike glanced at their petty cash jar; it had been emptied, but he didn't mind. All three of them had long supported Peter's desire of adding a keyboard to their band.

"You hungry?" Micky asked. "We've got some breakfast fixings left."

"Eh, it's almost lunchtime; I can wait," Mike said.

"There's more coffee if you're not fully awake," Micky added.

"Oh? Who made it?"

"I did."

"…No offense, Mick, but I think I'll pass. I'm just getting _out_ of my insomnia spell."

Micky let out a mock sigh.

"Man, make the coffee just a tiny bit too strong once, and you never get trusted with it again…"

"Micky, that last time, you had poor Davy bouncing off the walls for three nights straight! Now I know why you seem to have an endless supply of energy—you drink your own coffee!"

Micky shrugged it off, and Mike just shook his head in amusement.

"So, it's just the three of us for lunch, huh?" the Texan asked, pulling out the used paper plates and setting them on the table.

"Yep; Davy said not to expect him back until late. I think he's going to try to convince Cyndia to go to dinner and a movie, too."

Mike stopped in the middle of place-setting.

"Cyndia?" he asked. "Not Cyndia Crowforest?"

Micky looked up at Mike, surprised.

"Yeah, that's her name. You know her?"

"She was Davy's alleged girlfriend a few years ago when they were still in school—this was right after I took him in. They were together for about six months."

"What happened?"

"What happened? She was walking all over him so much, it's amazing he didn't have any footprints on him! She tried to blackmail him into taking a skiing trip to Lake Tahoe, saying she'd dump if he didn't go."

"And?" Micky asked.

"He didn't go, and she was true to her word. The only good thing that came out of that relationship was that I learned to care for the little guy with all the worrying I was doing for him. I don't know what he's thinking, trying to get back together with her now…"

"Maybe she's matured by now?" Micky offered.

Mike let out a cynical grunt.

"He's too good for her, even if she's turned over a new leaf," the Texan declared. "Why Davy would want to give a second chance to a chick like that is beyond me."

"A chick like who?" Peter asked, entering the Pad in time to hear Mike say those words. "You mean Cyndia?"

"Oh, you met her, too, huh?" Mike asked. "I'm beginning to think Davy wanted me not to know about this; he _knew_ I'd be dead set against it…" He shook his head and now turned his attention to the case Peter was carrying. "Got your keyboard?"

"Oh, yeah!" the blond grinned. "Case and everything! Wait'll you see this; it's got a piano setting, an organ setting, a harpsichord setting—"

"Better yet, why don't you give us a demonstration after we eat lunch?"

"Well, can we wait for Davy to get back first?" Peter asked. "I've been teaching him how to play the bass; I want to see if we can pull this off—me at the keyboard and him on the bass while you two do your thing."

"Sure, but we've got a while to wait," Micky said. "It's like I told Mike—Davy told me he wouldn't be back until evening."

Mike's eyebrows arched as he glanced out the back windows of the Pad that overlooked the beach.

"If that's the case, then the day sure went by fast…" he commented.

The Texan was staring pointedly out the window, where they could see Davy heading back towards the Pad—alone.

"He looks terrible!" Peter exclaimed.

"He looks just how I looked that time that weightlifter stole my girlfriend!" Micky said. "…Hey, you don't suppose…"

"I'll bet money on it," Mike said, darkly.

"No way!" Peter said. "Davy Jones, chick magnet, lose to another guy? I mean… the world might as well stop turning now!"

Mike held up a hand to quiet him as Davy walked up the steps to the balcony and entered through the back door. He glanced at his comrades and gave a wan smile and a shrug.

"Davy…" Mike said, folding his arms. "Just tell me one thing. _Why_?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Davy said. "I mean… Well, Cyndia had been asking to get back together for a while now, and I just decided to give her another chance."

"And this will hopefully write and end to this sorry tale, won't it?" Mike asked.

"That's the thing; it was going great until…"

"Another guy muscled in?" Micky asked, his eyes wide.

Davy nodded, glumly, and Peter shook his head in disbelief.

"That's it," the blond said. "The world did stop turning. The impossible has happened. The fat lady ought to be singing her swan song any moment now…"

"Pete, if you had been here the first time Davy and Cyndia broke up, you wouldn't be the least bit surprised," Mike said. "I'm sure not." He looked to the English boy. "I'd give you an I-told-you-so, but you never gave me a chance to find out about this bad idea of yours."

"But why would this chick pick some other guy over you?" Micky wondered. "I mean, sure, Brenda saw that a weakling like me couldn't compare to that Bulk guy, but look at you! You've got the looks, you've got the spunk, you've got that English charm—"

"That's just it; so did the other fella," Davy said. "He was from England, too—with looks and spunk. And something else that I didn't have."

"What was that?" Peter asked.

Davy responded by pulling the few crumpled bills from his pocket.

"Money. He was chucking it like confetti; he offered Cyndia lunch at this posh place that I could never afford. She took him up on his offer in five seconds."

"And that surprised you?" Mike asked.

"Well, I was more surprised to see another Englishman in Southern California," Davy admitted.

"That's not right," Peter said. "You oughta be able to trust your fellow countryman in a foreign land—not lose your girlfriend to him…"

"So who was this Girlfriend-Stealer-from-the-Old-Country?" Micky asked.

"Beats me," Davy said. "He introduced himself to Cyndia as Ricardo Alistair—only he requested that she call him Rico; it was embroidered into his suit." He rolled his eyes. "I ask you, who wears a three-piece suit in weather like this?"

"Rico, apparently," Mike deadpanned.

Peter bit his lip for a moment as Davy let out a sigh and sat down in one of the chairs, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"Hey, Davy?" Peter asked, softly. "If it would help you win Cyndia back, I could return the keyboard I just got—you could have the money."

The English boy looked back at the blond in surprise, but then managed a smile.

"No, Peter," he said. "I wouldn't do that to you—not even if it would help me win Miss World. I know how much you've wanted that keyboard."

Peter smiled back.

"I knew you'd say that. See, you're a nice guy; if Cyndia is too stupid to see that, you probably shouldn't even bother. And _I'm_ supposed to be the dummy here…"

"You're not," Davy insisted.

Peter just shrugged it off, even as Micky and Mike also nodded in agreement.

"Well, anyway," the blond went on. "I've got something else that might succeed in cheering you up—something that could cheer all of us up _and_ get us some money in the process, too!"

The others now looked to Peter in interest as he pulled a folded-up flyer from his pocket.

"This was on the bulletin board in the music shop," he said. "Since the auditions are today, the cashier said I could go ahead and take it down from the board. What do you guys think?"

Mike craned his neck to take a look.

"'Open auditions for The Art of Music Rock Festival tonight at 6:00 PM,'" he read. "Those who pass the auditions will be provided with payment for their performance at the festival in… Paris, France'!?"

"Isn't it great?" Peter asked, grinning. "We had such a great time in Paris the last time we were there; we said we wanted to go back again someday, didn't we?"

"Well, sure," Micky said. "But can we afford another trip to Paris?"

"Oh, it's no problem," Peter said. "The guy at the music store said that the chosen acts will be provided a travel stipend."

"It'll probably be deducted from the pay," Mike said, cynical about it.

"And that's no problem, either," the blond immediately responded. "We can save money by saying that there're only three of us, and have the fourth one travel in one of the overhead bins!"

Davy's eyes narrowed.

"Don't get any ideas," he ordered.

But Peter just laughed and gave the English boy a good-natured punch on the arm, and Davy managed to chuckle, too.

"Gotcha," the blond said. "Actually, I was thinking… We could go a day or two early and hop across the Channel to England. You could show us around Manchester."

The words had the effect Peter had been hoping for; Cyndia was forgotten as Davy's eyes glazed over at the thought of seeing his hometown again.

"You know, Pete's right," Mike said, liking the idea. "Mick's shown us all around his old haunts here in Los Angeles, and I took you guys to New Gallifrey, Texas. You two are due to show us around."

"Well, if we ever get to Connecticut, I'll show you around," Peter promised. "What do you say, Davy?"

"I say that I happily accept the role of tour guide," Davy answered. "…Assuming that we pass the audition, of course."

"And why wouldn't we pass the audition?" Micky asked. "We're good, and we know it."

"The question is, does the rest of the world know it?" Mike mused aloud. But regardless of his cynical words, he was feeling optimistic about the whole thing. "Never mind; we'll just have to show them."

"And, man, will we ever show 'em," Micky said, rubbing his hands together in gleeful anticipation. "Come on; let's chow down and get some practice."

"Ah, hold on a sec," Mike said, going to get a plate for Davy. "Looks like it's four for lunch after all…"

He reached into the cabinet for the plate, his elbow brushing against the switch for the new garbage disposal system that Mr. Babbitt had recently installed in each of the houses he had rented out.

The garbage disposal made a shaky, rattling noise, and Mike had barely glanced in that direction when it spewed out a volcano of silverware.

"Hit the deck!" the Texan ordered, diving to the side and covering his head with his hands.

Davy and Micky dove behind the backless couch as a fork was sent soaring over their heads. Peter scrambled under the table, clutching his precious keyboard in his arms. They didn't move until the silverware stopped flying, and it was then that Mike got up and turned the garbage disposal off.

"Peter…" he said, calmly. "This morning, in your understandable haste to get out the door to obtain your new keyboard, you didn't, perchance…"

"…Accidentally threw the silverware into the side of the sink where the garbage disposal was?" the blond finished, going slightly red. "…Yeah, I might've."

"Well, try to be more careful next time, okay?" Mike asked, and then he managed a good-natured smile. "Now that we've got that out of the way, let's eat."

"Now you're talkin'!" Micky said, as he and Davy got out from behind their shelter.

And as Peter crawled out from under the table and Mike placed the food on it, Davy soon found his mind drifting away from stolen girlfriends and flying silverware. Being poor didn't matter, he decided—not when you had people to share it with.

As he looked at their rations, he did have to concede that money was a useful thing, however. And, hopefully, this rock festival gig would provide them with that.


	2. Everybody's Hero

The quartet finished up lunch and, after putting off the dishes for a few hours in favor of practicing (Peter breaking in the new keyboard), engaged in a bit of friendly banter as to whose turn it was to clean the used paper plates.

"We're going to have to spring for some new ones pretty soon," Micky announced, as one of them fell apart in his hands. "I guess you can only reuse paper plates so many times before they just quit…"

"Well, let's try to hold onto the ones we've got a little longer," Mike said. "At least until we get confirmation that we will be playing in that festival—and get the money to go along with it. That new keyboard of Peter's cleaned us out, but I have every bit of confidence that it's well worth the investment."

"Glad you think so," the blond replied, feeling slightly guilty at depleting their savings, anyway.

Davy was about to say something, but found his words preempted by a knock on the door.

"I'll get it," he offered, crossing to the door. He made yet another failed attempt to look through the peephole before opening the door. "Cyndia?!"

Mike's eyes narrowed as he turned sharply to face her. Cyndia didn't even try making eye contact with him, despite casting a glance at Micky and Peter; she had always felt intimidated by the Texan, due to the obvious fact that he never even bothered to hide his disdain for her and her treatment of Davy.

She looked back to Davy now.

"Davy, I just wanted to—"

"Say that you're sorry?" the English boy finished, hopeful. "Hey, it's fine; I forgive you—"

"Actually, no," Cyndia said. "You have my sunglasses; I came by to pick them up."

Davy's face turned red.

"Oh."

Mike now strode forward to where Davy had left his jacket, reaching into the pocket and pulled the sunglasses from them, brandishing them in Cyndia's direction.

"Here, just take them and stay out of his life!" he snarled. "He doesn't need a little witch like you—"

"Now, now," an accented voice said. "That's hardly the way to talk to a lady—especially one of such high caliber as Miss Crowforest here."

A young man strode into view, wearing an expensive-looking suit, his light brown hair combed back. He regarded Mike with a look of derision.

"Cyndia, my dear, why don't you go wait for me in the car? I'll see to your sunglasses—or, better yet, buy you a new pair. You shouldn't have to hear this uncouth creature ranting on like that."

"Okay, Rico…" she said. She gave Davy one last look—a rather unreadable one—before sidling off and out of sight.

Rico watched her go, and then looked back at Mike.

"Well, Jones, you didn't tell me you had your very own pet boor. Wherever did you find him?"

"Watch it; I bite," Mike retorted.

"I believe you would," Rico said.

Davy now stepped between the two of them, his eyes narrowing.

"Look, it's one thing to steal Cyndia and make a comment or two about my lack of money. But you _do not_ insult my friends. Is that clear?"

Rico just chuckled.

"Seriously, Jones. Where did you find him? Really; I want to know—I've never seen something so intriguingly backward in all my life. Why, I do believe he would be most amusing; how can I get one of my own?"

"Did you not hear him?" Micky asked, scowling as he and Peter headed over to the door to support their bandmates.

"You shouldn't even be insulting Davy, either," Peter added. "You're both English; you should be talking about your homeland and getting along!"

Rico regarded the both of them with amusement, as well.

"Interesting specimens, as well. But not as interesting as this one here."

He glanced back at Mike, biting back a sneer.

"We don't have to stand for this," Davy snarled, before Rico could say another word. "You are not welcome here, so I suggest you leave before our landlord sees you skulking around and calls the police!"

He slammed the door in Rico's face.

"And stay out!" Micky yelled through the door.

Davy looked to Mike, who stood as he was, expressionless.

"Mike…"

"Don't worry about me, Tiny. I'm used to it," the Texan said. "There's a certain air of hillbilly-ness around me. I'm hip to that."

"You shouldn't have to be used to it," Davy said, shaking his head.

In the back of his mind, Davy was recalling the days when it was just him and Mike in a double act; Mike had insisted then that Davy do most—if not all—of the singing. He had said back then that it was because Davy was what the audience wanted to see and hear; perhaps that was his way of quietly agreeing that his background made him seem backward, as Rico had so rudely pointed out. The strong Texan accent, the stumbling over his words, the raggedy, rough appearance… Mike was quite obviously the country mouse when compared to the other three's city-bred backgrounds.

But that had never mattered to Davy; he had always held the Texan in the highest regard and had constantly looked up to him. And that wasn't even counting how much Davy owed him; it wasn't just the fact that Mike had taken him in and had given him a place to stay—it was Mike's friendship that Davy had cherished the most all these years.

Davy now placed a hand on Mike's shoulder; the Texan's emotionless face twitched into an involuntary smile as Micky and Peter also did the same.

"We chose you as our leader for a reason, Mike," Davy said, softly.

"It's because you always know what to do—no matter what crazy things we run into," Peter agreed.

"And, Man, have we ever run into crazy things!" Micky added. "We wouldn't have gotten out of them in one piece if you hadn't been there for us."

"Okay, okay; you guys don't have to lay it on thick for me," Mike said. "I know where it's at."

"Well, I'm sure glad you're not letting what Rico said get to you," Peter said.

"This whole thing is really weird, though," Micky commented.

"What do you mean?" Davy asked.

"Well, why would this guy come all the way from England just to come here and insult Mike?"

All eyes turned to Micky.

"Think about it," the brunet went on. "Sure, he stole Davy's girlfriend. But you would think that if he was going to insult someone, he'd insult Davy. And, come to think of it… why would he even bother coming here just to insult us, anyway? He said he came to help Cyndia get the sunglasses, but he never took him. And instead of rubbing in how he won Cyndia over, he made several rude remarks about Mike, whom he'd never even met before."

"Maybe that's how he gets his kicks…" Mike deadpanned.

"That could be," Micky said. "But I think he must've had some reason for doing what he did. Davy, are you sure you've never met him before?"

"I'm absolutely certain; I'd remember someone like him…" Davy muttered.

"Look, don't read too much into it," Mike said, ready to dismiss it. "I'm not letting it bother me, as Pete pointed out. I'm ready to move on."

"Well, I think there's something going on," Micky determined. "And I'm going to try to find out what it is."

"It'll have to wait," Mike reminded him. "We've got that audition to go to, remember? We've got just enough time to do a quick tune-up."

Davy blinked. In all the excitement (and rage) induced by Rico's little visit, the audition had completely slipped his mind.

"Do you think I can take my new keyboard?" Peter asked, eagerly.

"I'd hold off on it, Shotgun—at least for today's audition," the Texan said. "You only just started using it, so bringing it to an audition of this magnitude may not be such a good idea. We'll get it ready for Paris, though, assuming we make it."

"Fair enough," the blond agreed, placing the keyboard in the alcove and picking up his bass.

Once the others retrieved their instruments and had done a preliminary tune-up, they were out the door, discussing about which songs they were going to sing. It was then decided that they would perform "Words" and "Nine Times Blue"—the very same songs they had played at that momentous audition years ago, where all four of them had met at the first time, as two separate acts. This time, though, they would be performing both songs as a quartet—none of them could ever consider going back to the way it had been before that fateful day.

As they arrived at the auditions, the Monkees took note of several familiar-looking faces; the Four Martians, the Foreign Agents, and even the Jolly Green Giants were there. The bands acknowledged each other's presences, but there wasn't any time for talk, as last-minute preparations were underway.

Mike eventually found the sign-in area and finished the registration process.

"And we're set," he said, as they headed towards the outdoor stage. He paused along the way, taking note of several replicas of various sculptures and paintings that had been displayed on the path and on the lawn. "…I wonder what all this is about."

"Well, they did say it was the 'Art of Music Rock Festival,'" Davy recalled.

"I wish I'd known," Peter said. "I probably could've submitted some of the paintings I'd done during my artistic period."

"If I remember right, most of the time, you painted doors," Micky reminded him.

"Hey, art is art; you can interpret it any way you want!" the blond countered.

"Good luck trying to interpret some of them," Mike said, staring blankly at a replica Picasso. "All I see are a bunch of weird shapes and squiggles."

"Well, it goes right along with a rock festival," Micky mused. "I'll bet a lot of people will think that the music played here today will be just plain weird."

"And then we'll surprise them by being all sweet and serious with 'Nine Times Blue,'" Davy added. "That'll be interesting…"

"Speaking of which, we'd better be getting to the stage," Mike said, picking up the pace again. "We can check these out later."

"Hey, they've got some Egyptian replicas," Micky said, intrigued. "That'll be interesting to look at after seeing all those black-and-white mummy movies…"

"There're quite a lot of the Egyptian pieces, aren't there?" Peter asked, as they walked. "Guess the guys in charge just like them."

"You'd be right," one of the Four Martians said, as they joined the Monkees in heading for the stage. "The guy sponsoring this rock festival is a huge art and antiquities collector and wanted to combine his love of art with music."

"I like that," Mike admitted. "What we're doing with music isn't too different than what painters do; we just use notes as our brushes and melody and harmony as our canvasses. And a frame just can't capture what we create."

"Mike, that was beautiful!" Peter exclaimed.

"You think so? That wasn't even my intent; I was just trying to figure this festival out. And I'm happy to say that this whole thing is making a lot more sense."

"Even the Picasso back there?" Davy asked, as they reached the stage and took their seats in front of it.

"That… not so much," Mike smirked.

"There are certain things that will never make sense," Micky said, sagely striking a lotus pose as he sat down. "Mysteries far beyond the depths and limitations of human knowledge."

"Like how to interpret art?" Davy asked.

"That… and also how I'm going to get out of this pose now," Micky said, wincing as he tried to unfold his legs. "My legs have locked up!"

"Oh, Micky…" Peter sighed. "You're supposed to stretch and do warm-ups before you try any of those yoga poses—"

"Lecture later; rescue now. Please?" the brunet squeaked.

The others obligingly came to his rescue as the Martian shook his head and rejoined his own band. As Micky massaged his legs, the female emcee walked out on the stage.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," she announced. "And welcome to the auditions for the Art of Music rock festival! It is our hope that this festival will help express to the world that true art doesn't have to be visual—that auditory art is very much a reality and that it deserves to be celebrated!

"Tonight is your chance to try to make a contribution to that celebration; you will be auditioning for a chance to perform in this groundbreaking show—an experiment in auditory art that does not fall back on the tried and true genre of classical music. This is something completely new, and to better explain it to all of us, our generous sponsor is here, ready to make a speech. So please give a warm welcome to Mr. Ricardo Alistair!"

The four Monkees were the only ones not clapping, but no one seemed to notice them. And no one seemed to notice their open-mouthed expressions of shock as none other than Rico strode out onto the stage, waving to acknowledge the applause.

It seemed as though their chances for a big break had just take a nosedive into the territory of the impossible.


	3. And Now I Feel Like Such a Fool

As Rico began to address the crowd about the virtues of art and music, the Monkees frantically began to whisper among themselves.

"He's the sponsor?!" Micky whispered, horrified. "Mr. Charm-and-Insults is the sponsor of this whole deal?!"

"…I think the fat lady is singing the swan song again," Peter groaned.

"Goodbye Paris," Davy sighed, propping his chin on his hand. "And goodbye to seeing home sweet home again, too."

Mike took a look at his three bandmates, a decision forming in his head.

"There's still a chance," he said. "One chance to make this work. You three go on and do the audition without me."

"_What_?!" the other three hissed, quietly.

"Mike, we can't go on and audition without you!" Peter whispered. "You're our leader! You're our guitarist! You're—"

"Backward," Mike finished. "Without me, you'll be a bit more forward—forward enough to get you guys to Paris." He looked to Davy. "And to Manchester."

"You'd do that for us?" the English boy asked. "And for me?"

"Sure," Mike said. "I'll just head back to Texas for a week—visit Aunt Kate in New Gallifrey…" He trailed off as he saw the disapproving looks on his friends' faces. "You're not buying this, are you?"

"Not at all," Micky said, flatly.

"We're not letting you sit out just because of some creep like Rico," Davy said. "I'd rather not go home than go without you, Mike."

"It's all of us or none of us," Peter agreed.

Mike looked back at them, then to his worn-looking eight-button shirt; he placed his hand on his wool hat as he looked up at the stage at Rico in his three-piece suit.

"Well…" he sighed, his face going slightly red. "Maybe I can still be on stage, but not do any actual singing… A raggedy guitarist might still hurt, but it won't be as bad as having Rico sneer at my singing."

"Oh, Mike…" Davy said, softly. "You should sing—you should show them all what a raggedy guitarist-and-singer can do."

"Rico can't be the only judge," Micky added. "There'll be others—more objective ones than him."

"Yeah, but he's the sponsor," Mike reminded him. "One word from him—one threat that he'll pull the financial plug, and they'll kick us out first."

"Well, it won't hurt to try," Peter said. "What have we got to lose?"

"Potentially, our dignity," Mike said. "But other than that, nothing." He looked to his friends again. "You guys sure about this?"

"Do you even have to ask us?" Davy said, grinning.

The smile made its way back to Mike's face.

"Thanks," he said.

Rico had just finished up his speech; whatever it was, the crowd seemed to have loved it for they clapped wildly. The Monkees didn't join in, however; they were busy trying to figure out of Rico had even noticed them at all.

But when the rich boy strode off the stage to rejoin Cyndia without so much as a sneer in their direction, it became clear that he hadn't seen them.

"Man, is he in for a surprise…" Micky commented, as Rico led her to the judge's table.

The Monkees lapsed into silence as the auditions began; they politely listened to the other acts before them and applauded them. The judges were making notes; they would, at least, be spared a verbal commentary, it seemed.

When it was their turn, and they took the stage, Davy was pleased to see the stony-faced look on Rico as he finally seemed to notice them. This quickly passed, however, as Rico once again glanced at Mike and bit back what clearly was a smirk.

Rico's expression did not change through the performance of "Words," though the other judges were clearly enraptured, as were the other spectators. Cyndia kept trying to catch Davy's eye, but he ignored her; the little percussionist was more concerned with Mike, whose nervous look seemed to increase with every passing moment.

A slight red flush was visible on the Texan's face as they launched into "Nine Times Blue." His fingers were working his twelve-string on a metaphorical autopilot. But as Rico's smirk worked itself into a sneer at the country-sounding opening notes, Mike focused his gaze after exchanging a glance with his bandmates and started to sing.

One by one, the others joined in, harmonizing with Mike as he played. The crowd, not sure what to make of this sound—a sound that they had not expected at all at a rock and roll festival—listened in absolute silence.

They drew the song to a close, and, for one tense moment, silence was all that followed them. The red flush upon Mike's face grew deeper for that instant, but the crowd then burst into applause.

A look of relief crossed all four of their faces; they joined hands and bowed in unison before collecting their instruments and leaving the stage.

"Well, I'll tell you what," Peter said, grinning. "Even if they don't choose us, the crowd liked us. That has to count for something."

"And I'll tell you something else," Micky said. "Did you see Cyndia giving Davy the eye? She's having second thoughts about Rico!"

"Those two deserve each other, as far as I'm concerned," Mike said.

Davy winced, prompting Mike to give him a look.

"You're not still hung up on her, are you?!"

"Well…"

"Davy, snap out of it!" the Texan said, snapping his fingers in front of Davy's face. "She didn't care about you then, and she doesn't care about you now! She's not capable of it, and the sooner you realize that, the better."

Davy looked to Mike.

"Whether she does care about me or not… I'm glad that you do."

"We're all glad that you do," Peter added.

The Monkees soon had to fall silent again as the remaining bands proceeded with their auditions. This time, it was difficult for them to pay any attention to their competition due to the various thoughts in their heads.

After the auditions were all over, the bands were offered snacks and refreshments while they waited for the results. Micky was trying to sneak as much of the food into his pockets as he possibly could; in the all-too-possible event that they would be excluded out of spite, he would, at least, console himself by having secured a day's worth of food rations out of it, if nothing more.

"Mike, can I borrow your hat for a second?" he asked.

"…Why?"

"I'm trying to figure out how many packets of crackers I can fit in there."

"No."

"Aww, come on, Mike!"

"I _wear_ this thing, Man! The last thing I need is to have crumbs in my hair!"

"Yeah, you'll have a bunch of birds going through your hair," Davy said, causing Peter to chuckle at the mental image.

"Well, can I borrow just your pockets, then?" Micky asked. "I've run out of room in mine!"

"We do not need to hoard that much food; we're not completely desperate for nourishment…" the Texan pointed out.

"No, just mildly starving," Micky replied. "I mean, where else are we going to be able to find so much free food at our disposal—?"

He was cut off as the emcee returned to the stage with a sheet of paper.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you all once again for showing us your musical talent here today," she said. "I hope that you're enjoying our little buffet that we've set up for you; feel free to take as much as you'd like with you."

"…Such a generous soul…" Micky said, grabbing some extra paper plates and piling them up with more food.

The other three didn't even try to stop him at this point; Peter was too amused by his antics, while Davy and Mike were too busy staring at the piece of paper in the emcee's hands with baited breath.

"I have here," she said. "The results of the judging. The following acts have been chosen to showcase their talents at the Art of Music Rock Festival in Paris…"

As she started listing the names of some of the other bands, Micky now froze in his tracks nervous.

"…The Dragon Scales… The Four Martians… The Ghost Riders… The Lizard Project… The Monkees…"

Peter's mouth fell open in utter joy. He hugged Micky, who had nearly dropped his plates of food.

"We're in!" Davy whispered, grabbing Mike's arm. "We're in! I told you that your singing would be a good thing! We're going to Paris! We're going to Manchester! And it's going to be all four of us!"

Mike looked back to him. He was trying to keep his expression neutral, but his eyes were practically beaming.

"I'll be honest," he said. "I was hoping we could have it that way."

They didn't stop to wonder how it happened; obviously, the scores from the other judges must have canceled out the low score that Rico must've given them. Whatever the reason, they were grateful for it.

The quartet stayed and listened politely as the other acts that had been accepted had been announced before picking up their information packets.

"You will be receiving your advance in the mail within the next day or two," the emcee announced. "We look forward to seeing you in Paris in two weeks' time."

They were dismissed after that, discussing about their victory as they headed back to the Monkeemobile.

"I say we use one week to practice with Peter's new keyboard," Mike was saying.

"And then we go to Manchester?" Davy asked, eagerly.

"That's the plan," the Texan agreed. "You going to send a telegram to your gramps and let him know we're going?"

"Nah; I want to surprise him."

"I daresay, Jones, you'd be a _shock_ to your grandfather if you turned up with these three in tow," Rico's voice said from behind the Monkeemobile. He stepped out from behind the car, smiling in amusement.

They paused, glaring back at him.

"Do you mind getting out of the way of our car?" Mike asked. "If you've come here to tell us that you didn't recommend us for the gig and that it's only because of the other judges that we're going, then you may as well get going; we figured that out on our own. Now if you'll excuse us, we'll be on our way."

"Jones, you really should be careful as to where you take this fellow; he's liable to say anything. And he may make me inclined to try to convince the other judges not to accept you after all—and you wouldn't want that, now would you?"

"He didn't say anything unwarranted," Davy snapped back. "And, for your information, my grandfather has already met him and the others."

"Ah, well, that explains it, then…"

"Explains what?!"

"Whatever it is, it doesn't matter," Peter said, sensing nothing but trouble. "Let's go, Guys; we need to practice—"

"It's suddenly clear as to why you've been exiled to the Colonies rather than staying with Mother England," Rico said. "Why else would you live in such poverty—with such deplorable company—when you have an uncle who is the Earl of Hagglethorn, a cousin who is a Duke, and a grandfather who was a celebrated and highly rewarded member of British Intelligence during the war, if you were not cut off from the family fame and fortune that they all hold?"

Davy's eyes narrowed, dangerously.

"Will you just clear out and leave him—and us—alone?!" Mike snapped.

"Indeed, I have better things to do than to listen to you," Rico said, turning to go. "Miss Crowforest is waiting for me to take her to dinner. Oh, and Jones? Might I suggest getting a good muzzle for your pet boor here? No one should be forced to hear him talk—or sing."

Davy just barely heard Peter's furious gasp and Micky's reply of a curse, but he wasn't paying attention to them; he clenched his right hand into a fist.

"Battle stations!" Mike ordered.

He seized Davy's right arm as Peter grabbed his left; Micky grabbed both of Davy's ankles to make sure he couldn't kick. Rico laughed, finding it absolutely hilarious as Davy struggled against them.

"He's a better man than you!" Davy yelled at his retreating back. "He's the best! He—"

"Tiny," Mike said, softly. "It's okay."

Davy stopped struggling, and his companions released him. And as they stood there, questioning why a person they had never met until that day harbored so much contempt for them for no apparent reason, Mike, his face redder than ever, took a moment to register one key fact: though Davy had been clearly livid upon Rico's taunt of him being the family outcast, Davy had not acted upon his anger until Rico had insulted Mike again.

Though Mike would never say it aloud, seeing that had made the insult almost worthwhile.


	4. With Every Minute I Look Down

The Monkees soon headed back to the Pad after that, discussing the situation with Rico.

"You know what I think it is?" Micky said, as they headed through the door. "He's not really trying to insult Mike. He's trying to get Davy to snap at him for some reason. Think about it—this didn't start with Mike; this started with Cyndia. And when he saw Mike, he decided to try insulting him. He's trying to get something from Davy."

"But what?" Davy asked. "I've never met him before, I told you. What could he possibly want from me that he doesn't have already, as wealthy as he is?"

"I haven't figured that part out yet," Micky said. "But there's gotta be a reason why he did that. Something tells me he's going to try again."

"Whatever it is, you can't let him win, Davy," Peter said. "I think he almost wanted you to punch him in the face back there."

"I should have," Davy growled. "I wanted to. Why'd you have to hold me back?"

"Because it's generally considered bad practice to deck the sponsor of a rock festival that one is performing in," Mike said, speaking for the first time since they had left.

"And since when was it a good practice for said sponsor to insult one of the participants?!" Davy countered.

Mike didn't answer.

"Let's just drop it," he said, eager to change the subject. "We've got a lot more to worry about—practicing, for one, and packing, for another."

Davy let out an angered sigh, but decided to let the matter drop, as Mike requested. After all, besides Davy, Mike was the one most affected by Rico's actions.

And as the days went by, Rico was, pushed to the backs of their minds. The Monkees practiced, Peter going to town with his new keyboard. "Pleasant Valley Sunday" had never sounded better, and it was a unanimous decision among the quartet that, no matter what else, that was to be on their setlist for Paris.

The mail had arrived, as promised, with a check for their advance payment, a check for their travel stipend, and instructions for when and where in Paris they were to arrive.

"Look at the envelope, though," Peter pointed out.

"What about it?" Mike asked.

"It's not addressed to you, Mike; it's addressed to Davy," the blond pointed out.

Mike blinked. He was so used to opening the mail—especially mail related to their gigs, as information was usually sent to him, being the leader—that he hadn't even noticed that the letter had been addressed to Davy.

"Sorry, Tiny," he said. "I know I'd done all the signing in back at the registration; I just assumed…"

"It's okay," Davy said. "You _are_ our leader, after all," he said.

Micky folded his arms, his expression smug.

"Told ya," he said. "This Rico guy wants something from Davy. And I'll bet he addressed this envelope—or told someone else to."

"But… if he wants something from Davy, regardless of what it is, do you really think it's such a good idea for us to go to Paris?" Peter asked.

All heads turned to the blond's direction. Every so often, he'd say something profound—something that had a ring of truth to it.

"Well…" Mike said, staring at the items that had been sent to them. "Even if Rico does want something, there is one key fact: we need the money. And this could be our big break. However, if we're not all on board, I'll gladly tell them we can't make it."

"Money is money, Mike," Davy said. "I just won't listen to him, even if we do see him again. I, certainly, have no plans to give him anything."

"Yeah, and it's not like Davy will be on his own, right? We'll be there to look out for him," Micky added. "We won't even be in Paris until the day before the thing; we'll be in Manchester for most of the week!"

Peter responded with a shrug.

"I guess it will be okay since we're all going to be there, like Micky says…" he agreed. "And we can just avoid Rico while we're in Paris—make some excuse or something. I bet I'll come up with some good ones!"

"You do that, Shotgun," Mike said, managing a smile. "Well, I guess that settles that. Let's get packing!"

* * *

The gift of a travel stipend had, thankfully, allowed their plans of booking a flight to England first to work out perfectly. The plans were made, the bags were packed, the day arrived, and all that was left to do was leave. With their instruments safely stored, the four musicians eventually took their seats on board the evening flight; Micky and Peter had seats across the aisle from Mike and Davy, and both the Texan and the Englishman could hear Micky ramble about how he'd bought his camera and was planning to take pictures of every little thing once they arrived.

"I just hope he doesn't make himself look too much like a tourist," Davy smirked, shaking his head in amusement.

"Who, Mick?" Mike asked. "Nah. Ten to one, they'll see him right away as the kooky guy he is."

Davy chuckled, but then quickly sobered.

"And they'll see you as the intelligent, reliable person that you really are," he added, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Mike managed a smile.

"Look, I know better than let all that stuff Rico said get to me," he said. "It doesn't matter whether or not he's right—"

"He's not," Davy insisted. "Mike, you're always selling yourself short. When we first started as a double act, you didn't even want to sing because you said that they'd rather hear me than you." He hesitated. "You… you don't actually believe that there is some truth to what Rico says, do you?"

Mike shushed him, casting a glance over at Micky and Peter to make sure that they were in deep conversation.

"You do…" Davy realized, sadly. "You do believe it. Why, Mike? Why?"

"I'm at peace with it, Davy," Mike said. "New Gallifrey isn't the cultural hub of Texas, you know. You've seen it; it's a little farming-and-ranching town where there's oil in the soil and square dances once a month—"

"But that doesn't make you backward," Davy said. "And it certainly doesn't make you my…" He cringed at the very thought of saying the words; his voice cracked as he spoke them. "…My 'pet.' When he said that you needed a muzzle, I just… I'd never felt so angry in my life before. I know the truth; you're a good man. I know Micky and Peter agree with me. I just… I just wish that you would, too."

Mike didn't reply, but he looked Davy in the eyes, almost unblinkingly.

"While we're on the subject things that we wish the other would do," the Texan said, after some time. "I'd like to see you stop getting all lovesick over that little witch by Rico's arm."

"Don't drag Cyndia into this; this is about you!"

"This is about us," Mike corrected him. "You think it didn't tear me up to see her walking all over you? She did it then, and she's doing it now. And you're willingly acting like her doormat. Tell me… what do you see in her, Davy? Because it's clear to me that she doesn't see a thing in you."

"And it's clear to me that you don't see in yourself what the rest of us see in you!" Davy retorted.

"You're ducking my point!"

"And you're ducking mine!"

"Hey!" Peter exclaimed from across the aisle.

Micky and Peter were staring at the both of them—and so were several people in the seats around them.

"Do we need to separate you two?" Micky asked, folding his arms in a faux-parental style.

"Nah, we're good," Mike smirked.

"Good," Peter said. "Because you don't want to bother all these people, right? They're all staring at you."

At Peter's words, the nearby passengers turned their attention back to whatever it was they had been doing before.

"…I knew that'd work," the blond grinned. "Hey, you guys have to fill us in on this lively conversation."

"Sure thing, Peter," Davy promised.

Both Mike and Davy were silent for some time, waiting to make sure that those around them really had gone back to minding their own business. Though Micky and Peter had wanted to stay awake and join in the conversation, they inevitable ended up falling asleep before Mike and Davy attempted to pick up from where they had left off.

"So… where were we?" Davy asked.

"Well, I was trying to get you to tell me what exactly you see in Cyndia."

"And I was trying to get you to tell me why you think so lowly of yourself."

Silence.

"Well, go on," Davy said.

"I believe I asked you first."

"What? No, you didn't! I asked you first!"

"I asked you a week ago when you tried to go out with her again as to what you saw in her, remember?"

"That doesn't count!"

"Well, I reckon it does!"

"Shh! We're going to wake everyone up again!"

They both glanced at Micky and Peter, and then exchanged glances for a moment. Davy's lips twitched into a smile, and then Mike followed suit.

"Look, Tiny," the Texan said. "You know where it's at, right? I just don't want to see Cyndia hurt you anymore."

"And I don't want to see you and hear you put yourself down anymore," the English boy countered.

Mike folded his arms.

"Well," he said. "Maybe we can come to some sort of an agreement about this whole thing—something that'll make us both happy."

"I'd like that," Davy agreed, as he stifled a yawn. "But maybe we should discuss this later and follow Micky and Peter's lead. I'm absolutely exhausted—"

Davy was cut off as the person in front of him suddenly reclined their seat back, nearly smacking the English boy in the face, as he had bent forward to retrieve the complimentary blanket they had been provided with.

"Yeah, you oughta…" Mike said, with a smirk, as he pulled out a small notebook from his jacket pocket. "I'll probably work on some new lyrics for a bit and catch a few Zs a bit later."

"Sounds like a plan; we can continue our little discussion then," Davy said, reclining his own seat back. "Good night—"

Davy was cut off a second time as the passenger behind him—a heavyset man in a cream-colored suit and panama hat—grunted in annoyance and physically used his bulk to force Davy's seat back upright.

"Hey!"

"I need room, Kid!" Panama Hat snarled at him. "Just shut up and deal with it!"

"I'll show him 'shut up and deal with it…'" Davy quietly snarled.

"Forget it, Davy; he's not worth it any more than Rico is," Mike said, recalling how Davy had been so quick to defend his honor against Rico.

"Maybe so," Davy sighed, as he gestured to the seat in front of him, which had reclined back so much that the boy only had about a foot of room in front of his face. "But look at this! I might as well have gone with Peter's idea and gone in one of the overhead bins! How am I supposed to sleep like this?"

"Guess you do have a bit of a dilemma there," Mike said, glancing at the situation beside him. "But maybe I can help."

"I couldn't ask you to switch places," Davy said. "I've only just barely got enough room to breathe; you wouldn't fit in here at all!"

"Well, I wasn't thinking of that," Mike admitted. He closed his lyric notebook and placed it back in his pocket. "You want to borrow my shoulder?"

"Borrow your… shoulder?" Davy asked, baffled.

"That's right," the Texan said. "It won't be as comfortable as that plush headrest would've been, but it'll at least give you a chance to rest. You're our tour guide; you have to be in top shape."

Understanding now, Davy managed a wan smile.

"I think I'll take you up on that," he said, resting his head on Mike's shoulder. "Thanks, Mike."

"It's the very least I can do," Mike responded, quietly.

"Thank you, anyway," Davy mumbled back, as he drifted off within minutes.

Mike just smiled, resting his own head on the headrest of his seat. He didn't mind not being able to work on the lyrics as he had originally intended; he was content with being able to help his companion.

Backwards or not, he knew enough to appreciate how lucky he was.


	5. You Can't Judge a Crook

_Notes: The "Forbidden One" and the mysterious man in this chapter are not mine; they're cameos from/references to another one of my fandoms; kudos to anyone who can identify them_.

* * *

The Monkees had managed to sleep through the entire flight; within hours of landing, they had collected their bearings and were in the heart of Manchester, Davy eagerly ringing the doorbell of his grandfather's house. But a few minutes went by without an answer.

"He must not be in…" Davy said, disappointed.

"Well, you did want to surprise him," Peter reminded him. "He wasn't expecting you, was he?"

"No, guess not," Davy said, and he shrugged it off. "Right. I've got a spare key, so here's what we'll do; we'll leave our things in the guest rooms, and I'll show you around the city. How's that?"

"Sounds like a plan," Mike said.

Davy unlocked the door, a smile returning to his face as he crossed the threshold.

"This is where I grew up, you guys. Man, I can't believe it; it's almost completely like how I remember it," he said, softly, placing a hand on the wall. "Just a few changes here and there…"

"Well, you haven't been back here since you first came to California," Micky reminded him. "That was what—how many years ago?"

"Four and a half," Davy and Mike replied, simultaneously. They caught each other's eyes and smiled.

"So, what's it like to be home after so long?" Peter asked, smiling, as well.

Davy let out a sigh as he led the way upstairs.

"1334 North Beechwood is my home now, Peter," he said. "Even if I miss this old place, there's nothing that could make me leave you guys."

"And we are glad to hear that," Micky insisted, as he pushed his drums to the corner of the guest room.

The others followed suit, storing their instruments alongside the wall.

"Hey, I just realized something," Peter said. "We're going to need a plug converter for my keyboard. Know where we can get one?"

"I'm sure we could find one in one of the tourist shops," Davy said, waving a hand for them to follow him down the stairs and out the door. "They have all sorts of things for all the tourists who forget things across the Pond."

Micky paused as they headed down the sidewalk, blinking at a poster on the wall of a building.

"Hey, Mick, come on!" Mike called. "Don't get left behind!"

"Hold on a sec!" the brunet exclaimed. "Look at this!"

Davy led the others back, glancing at the poster.

"'Additions to the Ancient Egypt exhibit now on display at the Manchester Museum,'" Davy read. "Yeah, they add things to the displays from time to time; they once had a mummy on loan—"

"Never mind the mummy!" Micky exclaimed. "Look at that thing—that hook they have in the ad! Don't you recognize it?"

"It looks like those hook things you often see the Pharaohs holding," Mike said. "Every Ancient Egypt exhibit has one…"

"But not one with its own warning tag—in solid gold," Micky said. He pointed to the base of the hook, which was set in a small pedestal. Hieroglyphs were etched into the metal. "Most of those hook things don't have that base. And the only other one I've seen like this was in the art exhibition at the audition last week—it was one of the replicas Rico had out!"

"Hey, that's right!" Peter said. "It was there with a whole bunch of other Egyptian replicas! …Wow, talk about your coincidences…"

"We oughta see the real thing, Man," Micky said. "Take a picture—and then we're one up on Rico!"

"Well," Davy smirked. "I'm all for anything that'll put us one step ahead of him."

"Wait a minute," Mike said. "Do we have the money to spare for this? There's no point in spending all the money we're going to get for this Paris gig…"

"The Manchester Museum has free admission," Davy informed him. "Grandfather used to take me there all the time when I was younger—said it would build my character to learn about ancient cultures."

"Well, it must've worked," Micky declared. "Because you're quite a character."

"Look who's talking," Davy grinned, giving him a good-natured punch on the arm.

"Well, I can dig a free museum," the Texan said.

"Yeah, me too!" Peter agreed. "The plug converter can wait. Lead the way, Davy!"

* * *

As Davy led the way to the museum, he was careful to point out the interesting sights along the way.

The museum itself was an entertaining time, as well. A lot of the older exhibits hadn't changed much, and Davy got to show off the random facts of ancient cultures he had learned on his previous visits here.

"So… how interested were you in all of this stuff when you were younger?" Mike wondered aloud.

"Not much," the younger boy admitted. "I wasn't exactly appreciative of all of this stuff; it was more like a chore. Back then, all I could think about was going to America and making a life for myself there."

"And now?" Peter asked, leaning over one of the felt barriers to get a closer look at part of an ancient wall painting.

"…Well, it's much more interesting now," Davy admitted, sincerely. "And I'm glad to be able to share it with you fellas."

"Peter, you're in my shot!" Micky complained, trying to take a picture of the wall painting. The blond quickly jumped out of the way.

"And over yonder, we see the mysterious hook," Mike said, seeing it in another glass case by a door marked "Staff Only."

"Awright!" Micky grinned, as he ran over to the case. "Okay, you three stand beside the case, and I'll take your picture!"

"But you won't be in it!" Peter exclaimed. He looked around, pausing as he saw a man standing close by, staring at the object in the case. "Uh, hey… excuse me? Sir?"

The man looked to Peter, his eyebrows arching.

"Could you take our picture in front of this hook thing?"

"If you are referring to the Crook of the Forbidden One, I would be most willing to grant your request," he said, with a smile.

"Is that what it's called?" Micky asked, handing him his camera. "Catchy…"

The Monkees posed beside the glass case, and the man took their picture before handing the camera back to Micky.

"So do you know the story of this here… what'd you call it? Crook of the Forbidden One?" Mike asked.

The man looked to the artifact.

"I do," he said. "It is one part of a set of three items—a crook, a flail, and a medallion. The crook and the flail are useless on their own, but with the medallion, it is said that they unlock something that could be construed as either a great blessing or as a terrible curse. I am inclined to believe it is the latter."

He had all four of the Monkees' attention now; they stared back and forth between the man and the crook.

"What exactly is this blessing and/or curse?" Mike asked.

"According to the legend, the three items, when combined, are able to unlock endless wealth, but at a terrible cost. While the Crook and Flail are harmless—and useless—on their own, the Medallion of the Forbidden One, which holds the secret to the endless gold, ultimately poisons the mind of the user due to the influence of a dark spirit," the man said. "The user gets all the wealth he desires, but loses his very self to avarice."

"Ava-who-sis?" Peter asked, his eyes wide.

"Avarice," the man repeated. "Greed. The potential danger of the hold the Medallion of the Forbidden One has convinced a Pharaoh to separate the items to three different places across the Earth."

"Why couldn't he just destroy them?" Micky asked.

"According to the legend, the items cannot be destroyed as they are," the man explained. "It is said that one must be approached by the dark spirit of the medallion—and then turn down his offer. For the spirit feeds off of greed—and denial of nourishment will render him weak to attack in his vessel."

"And no one's been able to resist it, huh?" Peter asked. "That's scary…"

"Peter, it's just a legend!" Davy said. "There's nothing to worry about. …Right?"

The man didn't blink.

"Two of the three items of the Forbidden One have been found; one—the Flail—is still lost. The Crook is here, as you can plainly see, and the Medallion is in the possession of the one who graciously donated the Crook for display. Both the Crook and the Medallion were pillaged by opportunists during the Second World War; their collection was confiscated by British Intelligence, and these two items, left unclaimed, were put up for auction among others and bought by one of the Intelligence Agents. He also obtained some research notes that suggested the location of the Flail was somewhere in Peru, and he has done his best to add to the notes after doing his own research."

"From Egypt to Peru…" Mike mused. "That's some journey. And this Flail thing is still lost somewhere in Peru?"

"It is believed so; after being buried there, it was uncovered by the Incas, who later enshrined it in a place documented in those notes. I tried to convince the retired Intelligence agent to destroy the notes and render the location of the Flail permanently hidden, but he found the thought of destroying the research deplorable. In most ordinary cases, I would agree. But this is no ordinary case. I told him as much. It is my suspicion that he wishes to find the missing Flail, but for the noble purpose of donating all three pieces to this museum. While I admire his efforts, I fear he does not know the full story of the legend—and the potential danger he could release by bringing the three items together again. However, it is clear that my words will not dissuade him."

The man stepped away from the case, turning to leave. As he did so, the plaque he had been obscuring from view was now visible, describing the item.

_Pharaonic Crook, early 19__th__ Dynasty, New Kingdom, donated by F. Jones_.

Davy's eyes widened.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "That F. Jones isn't, by chance—?"

He was cut off; he had turned to call out to the man, but the man was out of sight.

"Where'd he go?" Micky wondered.

"Never mind that!" Davy fretted. "We have to find out whether or not my grandfather was the one who donated this thing!"

"Yeah, I remember you mentioning that your gramps was in British Intelligence during the war," Mike said. "And his name is—?"

"Felix Jones," Davy said. "He always did go on about some of the things he got in auctions after the war. And the whole reason he kept dragging me here to build character was because of him being an ancient history buff…"

"But didn't you just say five minutes ago that this whole thing was only a legend?" Peter asked.

"That was before I found out that my grandfather might be mixed up in this thing!" Davy exclaimed.

"Hold it!" Mike said, holding up a hand to silence everyone. "Hold everything right there! I think we just found the answer to the mystery that Micky was going on about yesterday."

"Could you do me a favor and remind me what I was going on about?" the brunet asked. "It's hard to keep track sometimes."

"You were saying that there was something from Davy that Rico wanted," Mike reminded him. "But none of us could figure out what it was. Well, this is a big clue, isn't it? It can't just be a coincidence that a replica of the Crook of the Forbidden One shows up in Rico's art exhibition in Los Angeles while the original just happened to be in the possession of Davy's gramps!"

"Ha, see? I _knew_ there was something behind this!" Micky exclaimed, once Mike had reminded him. "I oughta become a consulting detective!"

"But that still doesn't make sense as to why he keeps antagonizing me," Davy said. "Does he think that making me mad will cause me to convince Grandfather to hand the Crook over so he'll go away?"

"Maybe it's revenge?" Peter offered. "Maybe he tried to make a deal with your grandpa for the Crook—maybe even the Medallion, too—and he wouldn't sell. So Rico's just taking it out on you."

"That actually makes sense…" Mike said, now walking in circles around the glass case to observe the Crook from all angles. "And trying to wear you down a little bit could also be a part of the plan—"

Mike was suddenly cut off as the "Staff Only" door he was walking past suddenly flew open, smacking him right in the face and pinning him against the wall behind the door.

"Mike!" the others exclaimed.

But their attention was soon diverted as Cyndia Crowforest now stepped out from the room, resulting in all of them gaping at each other in shock.


	6. I Just Stood and Watched Them Walk Away

Cyndia and the three Monkees who could see her continued to stare in stunned silence as Rico now appeared. A second woman, slightly older than Cyndia, followed behind Rico; a tag on her blouse listed her as a curator.

"Really, Jones," Rico said, once he had gotten over his surprise at seeing them again. "We must stop meeting like this. Haven't you come to grips with the fact that Cyndia has chosen me? Chasing her around the world won't work; and, to be quite honest, it is certainly bad form."

"Wait a second!" Peter said, as Davy responded with a scowl. "How do we know that you're not the ones following _us_ around?!"

"Yeah, that's right!" Micky said. "We just came here to look at the museum; you're the one sneaking around in the restricted area!"

"Please…" Rico scoffed. "You act as though I have something to gain from following three sophomoric crooners and one boor—speaking of which, where is he? Ah, what is that _thing's_ name again? Nishwash? Ah, but of course; I'm sure the museum has a rule against pets, doesn't it?"

"First of all, it's Nesmith!" Davy snapped back. "And, secondly, he's right where Cyndia left him!"

He pushed past the three of them standing in the doorway and closed the open door, revealing a stunned Texan standing up against the wall, his eyes out of focus.

"Mike!?" Davy asked. "Mike, are you okay?!"

"…Six trillion jacuzzis," the older boy mumbled, before falling flat on his face.

Rico actually laughed as Micky and Peter now joined Davy as he knelt beside Mike, trying to revive him.

"Now I see why you keep him around, Jones! Ah, I imagine he must be good for a laugh—not much use for anything else, is he?"

Davy gritted his teeth. If he hadn't been holding Mike, he would've truly followed through with his previous intent to gift Rico a punch in the face. As it was, he stayed put, continuing to fan the Texan's face.

"Look, Man, we've figured out what you're after," Micky said, annoyed. "We know you want that Crook of the Forbidden One!"

"What, this?" Rico asked. "It is an oddity, but there is much more to be prized in the world of Egyptian art. In fact, I was meeting with the curator, Miss Elisa, to discuss adding to the collection by donating some of the pieces from my personal collection."

"So now you're just trying to outdo whoever donated the crook?" Peter asked, being careful not to link it to Davy's grandfather, just in case there was an odd chance—albeit unlikely—that Rico didn't know.

"You seem to be making me out to be the villain in this little drama!" Rico said, pretending to sound shocked.

"Well, gosharooney, I wonder why?!" Micky said, sardonically. "Maybe it's because you keep taking every opportunity you can to insult us!"

"I am insulting no one," Rico said. "I merely made a few queries as to Jones and his family, and as for that thing…" He cast a glance at Mike. "I was merely speaking the truth. You'll find that he didn't say a word to the contrary when he had the opportunity to do so. He knows I was right."

"Never!" Davy shot back. "Mike's a great man—greater than you'll ever be, even with all your money and art collections!"

"Keep telling yourself that, Jones. You know, you might not have lost Cyndia to me if not for him."

"What does he have to do with any of that?" Peter asked, baffled. "It's not like he had eyes for her, or anything like that…"

"Why don't you ask Cyndia about the number of times she wanted to get back together with you, but stayed away because she knew that boor would be standing there with a disapproving look? Jones, you and I could stand as equals in this world of ours if you only left him behind."

Davy grasped Mike's shoulder in silent defiance.

Rico shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe you'll see the light and chance your mind before it's too late. Let's go, Cyndia; it's clear he thinks more of that thing than he does of you."

"He always has," Cyndia sighed.

"And I'm sure he's never regretted it," Peter said. "Right, Davy?"

"Right," the younger boy replied.

Rico didn't respond, though Cyndia looked like she was about to; they never heard what it was she was going to say, for Rico guider her off, talking about dinner and a seeing a show at the West End.

"They deserve each other," Micky sighed. "But, man; I don't believe him for a minute; he was trying to find a way to get his hands on the Crook of the Forbidden One!"

"This thing?" the curator asked, looking at it. "It never came up in the conversation at all—not that he would be able to have bought it, even if he had wanted to. We don't buy and sell antiquities; we accept donations and loans, and will temporarily donate to other public galleries, but the sale of antiquities is a strict business. This piece is actually on loan."

"Yeah, from my grandfather," Davy said.

"Oh, _you're_ Felix Jones's grandson?" she asked. "He's talked about you often…" She trailed off as Mike groaned slightly, still out of it. "Oh, dear; I suppose that can wait. Here; bring him in the staff lounge; there's a couch he can rest on until he wakes up."

"Thanks, Miss… Elisa," Davy said, rereading her name tag. "I, er… Well…"

He glanced off in the direction where Rico and Cyndia had gone.

"I really don't know why he said all those things about him," Elisa said. "It's strange; Rico is usually just a friendly person without even a shred of mean spirit. What on Earth did your friend say to him?"

"Not a thing!" Micky protested, as they carried Mike to the couch and gently laid him upon it. "Rico took one look at him and decided to tear into him without any mercy."

"And he didn't even defend himself," Peter said. "Rico was right about that, at any rate. I wonder why…?"

Davy looked down at Mike, recalling their conversation on the flight.

"Because he believes it—or part of it," he said, softly.

"_What_?!" Micky and Peter chorused.

"He doesn't want to talk about it," Davy said, shaking his head. "I tried to get him to tell me why he thinks so, but he kept trying to turn the conversation back to Cyndia and me. I'm willing to admit that he was right, but I don't know if I can get him to see the truth about himself. He said we would talk about it later, but… Well, I'm not holding my breath anytime soon." He gently brushed the wayward strands of hair out of Mike's eyes.

Miss Elisa cleared her throat.

"Oh, sorry," Davy said. "I didn't meant to ignore you; I—"

"He's lucky to have friends like you," she said, smiling. "Ready to defend him, even when he won't defend himself…"

"And we'd do it until the end—and then some!" Peter proudly declared.

"Just like he'd do for us," Micky agreed.

She smiled, still looking baffled as to why Rico would've said so many cruel things about him.

"So, your grandfather was the one who donated the Crook of the Forbidden One?" she asked aloud.

"Apparently; how many Felix Joneses are in town and have access to antiquities?" Davy mused.

"With the current laws in place, not very many," Elisa said. "He was lucky to get the crook and the medallion at that auction without any fuss. He was willing to loan us the medallion, too, but he seems to have lost track of it in his attic."

Davy chuckled, in spite of himself.

"Sounds accurate," he said. "I used to go on treasure hunts in that attic when I was a kid… Never failed to find something interesting in there."

Miss Elisa smiled politely.

"If you'll excuse me; it's almost closing time. I'm going to start showing everyone out and lock up, but you can stay as long as you need to until he's well enough to go. The doors can still be opened from the inside even after they're locked, so you shouldn't have a problem getting out."

"Thanks," Peter said. "We really appreciate this."

"No trouble at all," she insisted, as she left.

"Well," the blond grinned. "That was nice of her. Good to know that Rico's nastiness doesn't rub off on everyone."

"From what she said, it seems that Rico is only selectively nasty," Micky commented. "I can't believe that he's a nice guy to everyone else in the world. He really must want that medallion from your grandpa, Davy."

"But he didn't even show any interest in the crook," Davy pointed out. "Why would he be interested in the medallion if he doesn't care about the crook? He probably doesn't even believe in the legend—assuming he's even heard of it."

"His lack of interest could be a big ruse," Micky said, cracking his knuckles as he pondered. "And there's the fact that the crook is just sitting there, useless, until he gets the medallion; he doesn't need to be in any hurry to get it. And the flail is just waiting for him in Peru, once he cracks the secret of where it's hidden; the only thing he isn't sure of is the medallion."

Mike groaned again, wincing.

"I think he's coming around!" Davy exclaimed. "Micky, do you have your seltzer bottle?"

"Got it right here," the brunet grinned, pulling it, seemingly, out of nowhere like he usually did. However, his grin soon faded. "Uh-oh. Empty. Man, I guess I forgot to get a refill in all the excitement of us leaving…"

"We passed a water fountain in the other room," Peter recalled. "That'll have to do for now."

"Yeah, guess so," Davy said. "You guys go get the water; I'll stay here with Mike."

"Right!" they chorused, heading out of the lounge and down the staff-only corridor.

"It was on the other side of the room," Peter recalled. "Just—"

He was cut off as, suddenly, Micky clapped a hand over his mouth, freezing in his tracks. The door that led to the exhibit was slightly ajar, and voices could be heard on the other side of it.

"Shh!" he whispered. "There's someone outside, looking at the exhibits!"

"Well, it _is_ a museum," Peter whispered back, once Micky released him. "Isn't that what people do?"

"Not when the room is dark and supposed to have been cleared by the curator," Micky whispered. "She would've cleared this room first; someone hid or snuck back here when she wasn't looking!"

He took a step forward, trying to hear what the voices were saying. The murmurs were far too low, but it was clear that the people there were not meant to be there.

"Is it Rico?" Peter whispered.

Micky shook his head.

"_I have no idea who those guys are_," he mouthed, not wanting to risk being overheard, as well. "_But it's not him; I can tell that much_."

"Looks like the plot has thickened," the blond whispered.

"_I know. Isn't it great?_" Micky mouthed back, an eager grin on his face.

Davy, in the meantime, had gone to see what had been taking so long to get the water. He drew in a breath of air to speak, which startled his two bandmates; fortunately, Micky was able to cover his mouth before he spoke and gave the game away.

Davy's eyes looked at him, questioningly, and Micky used his free hand to point in the direction of the voices as he released Davy, as well. Davy listened for a moment, and then his eyes widened.

"You recognize the voice?" Peter whispered.

"It's that rude fella who was sitting behind me on the plane!" Davy whispered back. He crept forward, taking a peek through the narrow opening of the slightly-ajar door. Yes, there was the heavyset man with the Panama hat! Davy looked back at Micky and Peter and nodded in confirmation before heading back down the corridor with them.

"Now that's a weird coincidence," Micky mused. "But one thing hasn't changed; he and his buddies are in the museum after hours, and, unlike us, I don't think they have a reason or permission to be here."

"Well, I can think of one reason," Peter commented. "Sticky fingers, just like those art thieves we dealt with back in Los Angeles that one time."

"And we're going to deal with these guys the same way," Micky said, eagerly rubbing his hands together.

"If Mike's okay with it, you mean," Davy said. "He just woke up—"

"Yeah, and he's wondering where y'all disappeared to," a Texan drawl whispered, causing them all to jump.

It didn't take them long to fill Mike in, who was more than a little surprised to realize that Panama Hat Man from the flight was here now.

"And that's all we've been able to figure out," Micky said, after explaining it. "What do you think?

Mike pondered over it for a moment before making his decision, with a smirk.

"I think that this is a job for… the Monkeemen."


	7. Blink, and You're Groovy

In the blink of an eye, the four donned their red Monkeemen outfits, complete with their thick-rimmed, lens-less glasses. As the intruders stepped away from the door, leaving the room to scout the rest of the museum, Mike led the other three out to the main room once the coast was clear.

"They'll probably be coming back here…" Mike murmured. "The Crook of the Forbidden One is something light and easy to pilfer; if they're going to run off with stuff, that'll probably be among it."

"Okay… so how do we stop them?" Davy whispered back. "We can't let them get away with it!"

The Texan looked around at the exhibits in the room.

"We do what we do best," Mike replied. "The Monkeemen always strike by psychological warfare, remember?"

"So, how do we do that when it's just the four of us against an unknown number of smugglers, some of whom are probably armed?" Micky asked.

"I'm still trying to work that one out," Mike admitted.

Peter had crept over to the other exit of the room to keep watch. Suddenly, his shoulders went rigid.

"They're coming back!" he yelped. "What do we do?!"

Mike's gaze fell on some Egyptian statues near the Crook of the Forbidden One, and he beckoned the others to follow him. Each of the Monkees hid behind one of the statues as Panama Hat and his flunkies came back to the room.

"I figure that the alarms will be set off if one of the glass cases break," Panama Hat was saying. "We've got about ten to fifteen minutes after that, so we've got to pick out what we want now."

"The Crook of the Forbidden One—"

"Yes, of course," Panama Hat said. "That is our top priority. The bracelets in the other room will go nicely with the collection, too. But were going to be careful with that—use the glass cutters. We don't want to trip the alarms before we have to."

The lackeys were heading towards the Crook of the Forbidden One.

"Hey, Mike? If you're going to use the whole psychological warfare thing, now would be the time," Micky whispered.

"You're right," the Texan said. "Watch and learn."

Mike waited for the first lackey to stand directly in front of the statue he was hiding behind.

"Don't blink," he whispered, spookily. "Blink and you're groovy."

Davy bit back a snark as the lackey looked up, staring at the statue, and he had to struggle not to laugh as Micky took his cue from Mike.

"Never mind the furthermore, the plea is self-defense," he whispered. "So don't blink, Man. Don't blink."

A second lackey now stared at the statue Micky was hiding behind, unable to see the smirk on the brunet's face.

"What's going on?" Panama Hat demanded.

"The statues are talking," one of the men said, backing away from them. "They're _talking_."

"It's just some cheap trick they've rigged up for the exhibit," Panama Hat said, taking a step toward the statues.

"It's no trick," Peter whispered. "It is the spirits of the ancient past, refusing to stand for such sacrilege."

"That's right," Davy added. "So don't steal that Crook."

"Steal it, and we'll curse you for a thousand years—and then a thousand more, just for kicks," Mike warned them. "And your name will be etched into the chronicles of crime for all eternity. So don't do it. And don't blink."

Panama Hat now reached behind one of the statues and pulled Micky into view by the collar of his Monkeeman suit. The brunet gave him a sheepish smile.

That prompted the other three to look out from behind their statues.

"See?" Mike chided. "You blinked. Split, guys!"

Micky pulled away from Panama Hat, and the four Monkees fled in four separate directions. It took the crooks a moment to realize what had just happened, and they took off after the Monkees, as well.

Davy dashed down one of the corridors, a glass-cutter-wielding lackey in hot pursuit several yards behind. Davy grabbed a central pillar and used his momentum to swing around in a U-turn. The boy let out a yelp as his shoulder was grabbed upon making the turn.

He tried to resist, but froze as a hand clapped over his mouth, pulling him into the shadows of the room. The lackey kept on running in the same direction, not noticing that Davy had changed course completely.

Davy now gave a start as he was released, and he gawked as Mike led him to a better lit part of the room.

"Don't do that," the younger boy instructed, wiping the sweat off of his brow. "I thought you were another one of _them_!"

"Yeah, well, the big guy was right behind me until I decided to hug the shadows," Mike said. "Dunno where he ran off to, but we've gotta find Micky and Peter—and a phone to call the police."

"I guess psychological warfare wasn't enough this time, huh?" Davy asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Mike said. "We did stop them from stealing the crook right then and there…"

There was a series of sounds from another room—a crash, a sneeze, a yelp, and an angry yell.

"What was that?!" Davy exclaimed in a hushed gasp.

"Offhand, I'd say it was Pete running into something, setting off a cloud of dust that made Micky sneeze—which got the attention of one of our fiendish friends," Mike intoned. "Come on."

They two moved to head in that direction, but were stopped short as Micky and Peter appeared out of the shadows, crashing into them.

"We really must stop meeting like this," Micky said, with a wry smile. "Come on; they're right behind us!"

"What happened?" Davy asked.

"I ran into a Persian rug that was hanging in the other room," Peter said, sheepishly. "Micky sneezed, and they heard us."

"Told ya," Mike smirked, as they headed back to the room with the crook. He then motioned for the others to head through the staff only door. "I want you three to get in there and find a phone. Call for help. I'll stall 'em until then."

"I don't like this idea," Davy stated. "Someone should be with you."

"I'll back him up," Peter offered. "You and Mick go find that phone!"

Micky tugged Davy's sleeve, and the two headed into through the door as the running footsteps approached the room from the other entrance. Mike silently indicated for Peter to hug the shadows of the far corner of the room while he dove into the nearest corner.

"They're not here," Panama Hat sneered, looking around in frustration. "They must have come this way, though…"

"Who were those kids?" one of the lackeys asked.

"Probably some young hooligans here for the same reason we are," Panama Hat replied. "We're not the only ones eyeing this stuff."

"Now I take offense to that!" Mike called from his corner, before quietly heading for the next corner.

Flashlights illuminated the corner where Mike had been moments ago.

"Boss, let's just grab the crook and go!" one of the lackeys said. "It's not worth dealing with a bunch of delinquents on top of our—"

"Quiet," Panama Hat ordered, and he now addressed Mike. "Judging by your accent, Boy, I take it that you're from the States, just like we are—and your friends likely are, too. We all could, possibly, work together here if you were wise enough to take the profitable opportunities that I am offering to you now. You would become quite rich. What do you say to that?"

"I say 'Save the Texas prairie chicken… and the ancient crook,'" Mike called back, escaping from the second corner again as the flashlight beams turned towards the direction of his voice again.

This time, he snuck all the way to Peter's hiding place.

"You're enjoying this far too much," Peter said.

"Give me some credit; the psychological warfare bit is actually working out after all," the Texan replied. "If you wanna get in on it, go right ahead."

Peter grinned at the thought and jumped right into the conversation.

"We are here, arrived from across the wide Atlantic Ocean to bring truth and justice to these halls of learning," he said, before the two of them fled to their first hiding spot behind the statues.

"Ooh, nice touch!" Mike whispered.

"Thanks!"

"I don't buy that for a minute," Panama Hat replied. "So here's what we'll do: we'll give you until the count of three to give yourselves up."

"He's got a lot to learn about giving people the proper incentives," Mike deadpanned quietly. "And I mean a _lot_ to learn…"

Peter nodded, and then he silently caught Mike's attention as the staff only door started opening ever so slightly. Micky and Davy had slipped out of the room, carrying something long and thin in their hands that seemed like a very thing kind of rope. One of the two boys—Davy, most likely, judging by how short the silhouette was—slipped out ahead, pulling the rope taught between them.

The first lackey didn't see it, and ended up tripping and falling flat on his face, out cold from the impact of the tile flooring.

"And that's what happens to nail-biters like you," Davy quietly chided, as he and Micky went off in search of their next victim. "Nail biters with sticky fingers—now that has to be the most extreme version of this I've ever seen."

"I'm guessing his mother doesn't like him either, huh?" Micky asked.

"Of course not."

Mike and Peter now slipped out from behind the statues.

"If I know those two, the police are on their way; we just have to stall long enough until they get here…" Mike said.

"We'll just keep giving them the run-around like we've been doing…" Peter began, but he trailed off as a stray flashlight beam caught Davy and Micky, causing them to give a couple guilty smiles at their adversaries as the "rope" they had been carrying between them tuned out to be part of the phone cord.

"Ah, I know it's difficult to believe," Micky said. "But there is an explanation for this, I swear. I'm sure you'll love it when we figure out exactly what it is…" He trailed off as Panama Hat lunged at the two of them, furious. "Belay that last order!" Micky instructed. "Davy, hit the deck!"

Both Davy and Micky crouched down, still holding the phone cord taut as Mike and Peter now, willingly, put themselves in full view of the flashlights in an attempt to confuse their captors, as well.

But irony had different plans. The taut phone cord caught Panama Hat man by the ankle, sending him tripping forward, much like his lackey did moments before. However, the big man's inertia was far greater, and when he tripped, the man flew forward, crashing through the felt barriers around the Crook's glass case—and then kept going into the glass case upon its pedestal.

It was almost as though it had all been done in slow-motion as the glass case fell from the pedestal and towards the ground. Panama Hat grabbed at the case, but missed, and everyone else instinctively made a grab for the falling glass case, even though they were all much too far away to reach it in time.

They all cringed at the sound of shattering glass, followed by the sounds of metal on tile and the distinctive sounds of an alarm system.

"That… wasn't supposed to happen," Micky said, horrified.

Davy was the first to recover from the shock; he made a dive for the Crook, but Panama Hat saw him coming and knocked him away by giving him a strike across his shoulders that sent the little musician practically flying across the room until gravity brought him down. The villain then grabbed the Crook for the Forbidden One and bolted for the nearest window without even waiting for anyone else.

His flunkies, quickly realizing that he had every intention of leaving them to fend for themselves, nearly stampeded after him. A valiant attempt was made by the Monkeemen who were still on their feet to stop them, but they were outnumbered and out-muscled; it was all they could do to prevent being thrown across the room themselves.

Mike was the first one at Davy's side as the criminal crowd dispersed; Micky and Peter had attempted to give chase, but quickly gave up, instead helping Mike attend to their younger friend.

"You okay, Tiny?" Mike asked.

"I think so," Davy said, shaking off the blow as Mike helped him pick himself up. "What just happened?"

Micky winced as he looked out the window to see the flashing lights of police cars pull up outside the museum.

"We just got into a whole lotta trouble," he announced.


	8. I Don't Think You Know Me

The next several minutes were filled with pleading protests and frantic claims of innocence as the Monkeemen tried to explain what had just transpired. The police were not convinced, initially, and were just about to take them in under suspicion of burglary and breaking & entering when Miss Elisa arrived, having been called by security, and vouched for their innocence.

"They're telling the truth; I had told them to stay here until their friend recovered," she said.

"That's right!" Micky said. "Peter and I were trying to get him a drink of water when we heard those guys plotting to take stuff. And so we did the logical thing—get together and try to stop them!"

The constable, who had been taking down notes as they had talked, now gave Micky a look as though he had just sprouted an extra head.

"The logical thing would've been to call security—or us."

"…Now why didn't we think of that?" Peter asked.

Mike massaged the bridge of his nose, the full realization of how stupid they had all been now hitting home—and it certainly didn't help that he had been the one to suggest the entire plan.

"I should've known better," he admitted. "New rule, guys; from now on, don't listen to my ideas if I've only just regained consciousness."

"It's not your fault," Davy said. "We all should've known better." He hesitated. "And I'm sure Rico was giving you plenty of other things to worry your mind."

"Rico?" the constable asked.

"Ricardo Alistair," Micky said. "Nasty guy. You know, I'll bet he had something to do with this!"

"Mr. Alistair, the art collector?" the inspector asked. "I saw him at the airport a few hours ago; he was on his way to London with a lady friend."

Davy winced, involuntarily.

"Maybe that was why we all were so willing to try to stop those thieves," he said. "We all wanted to show Rico up—prove that we could do something he couldn't. And, for all that, we didn't have much luck, either."

"We did okay until the big guy knocked over the glass case," Peter pointed out. "That was when things got worse…"

"Well, I have to thank you for trying to help," Elisa said, giving them an encouraging smile. "I'm just sorry you went through so much trouble. Though… I'm not sure where the costumes came from…"

"They're ours," Mike said, with a wan smile.

The constable just stared at the Monkeemen costumes and shook his head. The inspector also regarded them with distrust.

"Miss Elisa, are you absolutely certain that you can vouch for these four young men?" the inspector now asked.

"Yes, I'm sure," she said. "The artifact that was stolen belongs to the grandfather of one of these boys; he would have had extra incentive to protect it."

"That would be me," Davy said, raising his hand.

Another constable arrived with pictures taken from the security cameras.

"They appear to be telling the truth, Inspector," he said. "They were attempting to protect the items."

"Sounds to me like those creeps would've run off with a whole lot more than the Crook if we hadn't been here," Micky said, folding his arms in triumph.

The inspector sighed.

"Very well; we won't be pressing charges—"

The Monkees now clasped their hands together in fervent thanks.

"We all appreciate your faith in the face of chasing after that fickle thing called Justice," Mike said. "Fellas, let's show our appreciation!"

He clapped his hands, and Davy now began to fan the inspector's face with an ostrich-feather fan. Micky pulled a nail file out of nowhere and began to give the inspector a manicure while Peter got his hands on some shoe polish and began to shine the inspector's shoes. The inspector stared at all of them for a moment before breaking free from them, and he now addressed Mike.

"We will be requiring statements from all of you before you leave," he informed him. "So I will need to ask you to remain here while I see what has happened to the other rooms. Miss Elisa, I would appreciate it if you come with me and make sure that the rest of the exhibits are just so."

Davy was about to mention that the Crook had been the main focus of the thieves, but then decided that what he had to say wouldn't mean much to them. The Inspector and most of the others in the room departed with Elisa to survey the other rooms except for one constable, who remained to keep an eye on the Monkees.

"Well," Micky said, as they leaned against the wall and waited. "That could've gone a whole lot worse."

"Sure…" Mike said. "We could've gotten arrested. Or we could've gotten ourselves hurt—or worse—by Panama Hat Man and his crew of thieves. I can't believe I was so stupid to even suggest trying to stop them!"

"Well, we all went along with your idea," Peter reminded him. "It's not like you forced us into it…"

"And you _had_ just woken up," Davy reminded him. He hesitated. "Or is this less about you making a poor error in your judgment and more about you thinking that you're the brainless hillbilly that Rico thinks you are?"

Mike gave him a glare, silently indicating that he had blurted that out in front of Micky and Peter.

"They already know," Davy said. "I told them while you were knocked out. And don't look at me like that; they have a right to know. All three of us care for you a lot, Mike, and we hate to see you put yourself down like this!"

"Yeah, man," Micky said. "I know you and Davy go a ways back, but Pete and I know you well enough to want to help you, too."

"Help me with what?" Mike asked, incredulously. "There's nothing to talk about here. I'm not in any trouble because of who I am."

"But you've got some sort of skewed vision of the person you see yourself as," Peter said.

"I know who I am, Shotgun."

"I don't think you do," Davy said, prompting Mike to give him another look. "I don't think you really know yourself, Mike. If you did, you wouldn't be so quick to agree with what Rico was saying."

"Look, this isn't really the place to discuss this thing…"

"Fair enough," Micky said, glancing at the remains of the shattered glass case. "We've got other things to worry about."

"Yeah, like where Panama Hat Man ran off to," Peter said. "I just hope that he won't try to track us down and make sure that we don't talk."

"I don't think he saw too much of us to figure out who we were at all," Davy said. "He probably only got a glimpse or two with how fast we were running around…"

Mike gave a nod.

"That's lucky, anyway," he agreed.

"But what I want to know is why he took the crook out of everything else in here," Micky said. "I know it's gold and everything, but so is that." He indicated a mummy's golden mask. "And that…" He stared pointedly at a small, golden chair. "And even _that_." He finished by pointing at a golden scarab that was set with a piece of yellow-green glass that, according to the plaque, had been created by a meteorite striking the desert sand with such a high temperature that the sand had fused together into glass. "That meteorite-made glass would've been worth more than that little crook. So why did they take the crook and not something more valuable like that scarab?"

"Well, he did smash the case," Peter reminded him.

"Yeah, but remember what Panama Hat Guy was saying when they were still looking around?" Micky said. "He said that the crook was their top priority."

"What are you saying?" Davy asked. "You mean you think that story about 'The Secret to Endless Gold' that fella was going on about earlier might be true?"

"I didn't say that," Micky said. "But maybe Panama Hat Guy thinks it is—and that's why he went after it. And if he's going after it because of that story…"

"…Then he's going to want to complete the set," Mike finished. "So, he's going to go to Peru eventually. But, before that, while he's here in Manchester, there's every chance in the world that—"

"—He's going to try to track down my grandfather and get the medallion from him," Davy said, his eyes going wide. "And Grandfather probably doesn't even know where it is—and they wouldn't believe him if he told them that!"

"Okay, okay, don't panic," Mike said, grabbing his younger friend by the shoulders. "They're going to have to keep their heads down low after what happened here tonight; they'd have to be really stupid to try to go after the medallion within the next few days. And seeing as though they went through a lot of thought in planning the heist here, they don't seem that stupid."

"Then how did their heist go so wrong, if they'd planned everything so perfectly?" Peter asked.

"We were here, remember? Micky intoned.

"Oh, right…"

"And we need to be at my grandfather's place to ensure that they don't succeed there, either," Davy said.

"We can't leave until we've given our statements," Mike reminded him. "But as soon as we do, we're out of here; believe me, I've spent more than enough time here."

"None of this would've happened if Rico hadn't slammed you with the door," Micky said. "We'd have been out of here before closing time. So, in a way, we can still blame this all on him."

"Doesn't help us much," the Texan sighed.

"No, but it makes me feel a bit better," the brunet admitted.

Davy managed a smile in spite of himself as Peter chuckled in response. However, despite cheering up, it had dawned on Davy that Mike had, once again, turned the conversation away from his self-worth—or lack thereof.

Davy silently vowed that he would get to the bottom of it and show Mike the wonderful person he truly was. After everything that Mike had done and continued to do for him, Davy figured he owed him that much.

And, hopefully, they wouldn't run into Rico again; another run-in with him would probably make Mike's mindset worse.

The younger boy now sighed, leaning up against the wall again.

"Not quite what you expected for your homecoming, huh?" Peter asked.

"Not really," Davy replied, managing a wan smile. "But I don't really mind it, you know? You three are here with me, and that's all I need. This is just another one of those things that we'll get through."

"And, years from now, we'll probably look back on this and laugh," Micky declared. "Or, at least, smile."

Even Mike had managed a wan smile of his own. They lapsed into silence after that, waiting for the inspector to return.

The inspector did return a bit later, with Miss Elisa in tow again, having finished their inventory check of the other rooms.

"Nothing else seems to be missing," he concluded.

"Well, we could've told you that!" Micky said. "They mainly had their sights set on the crook—something about a legend of endless gold, whatever that means…"

The inspector stared at Micky again.

"I don't think _he_ believes in the legend," Mike deadpanned.

"Are you boys trying to suggest that this entire crime was perpetrated by men who believe in fairy tales?!" the inspector demanded.

"Well, actually, legends are kind of at a different level than fairy tales," Peter said. "Legends are usually darker, even though some fairy tales are pretty dark, too. I actually know a great one that isn't dark; it's about a princess whose carriage got stuck in the mud…" He trailed off as the inspector now directed his incredulous look to him. "On second thoughts, this may not be the best time or place for that."

"Can we just get to the facts, please?" the inspector asked, his voice remaining amazingly calm.

"The fact is that all they took was the Crook of the Forbidden One," Davy said. "It's part of a set of three artifacts that are part of a legend; whether it is true or not, we think they might go after the other two pieces."

"And where are these pieces?" the inspector asked.

"One is in Peru," Davy went on. "And the other is with—"

He was cut off by a shout from the door—an all-too-familiar voice that he hadn't heard in a long time.

"_David_!"

Davy winced. He didn't even need to look and see who had arrived; it was the same tone of voice he had always heard whenever he had gotten into trouble as a young child. And though he was eighteen now, precious little had changed in that tone.

"…My grandfather," he finished.


	9. The Search

The Monkees were actually grateful that, immediately after Grandfather Jones's arrival, the inspector announced that it was time to give their official statements; it temporarily allowed them to escape Grandfather Jones, who was clearly biting back a proper chiding—but he was more than willing to wait to deliver it.

And that was why, after they had finished giving their statements, the Monkees sneaked out one by one through one of the side exits.

"So, what's the plan?" Peter asked.

"Easy," Davy said. "While Grandfather stays here, looking for us, we'll sneak back to the house, grab our stuff, and head to the nearest…"

He trailed off, seeing his grandfather standing just outside the side exit with folded arms and a stern expression.

"…There's a lesson to be learned here," Micky said.

"What—never use the side exit?" Mike deadpanned.

"No; never try to put one over on a retired spy."

"Gr-Grandfather, let me explain—" Davy began.

"At what point," the elderly man asked. "Did it seem like a good idea to get involved with armed robbers?"

"They were going to steal the crook!" Davy countered. "Your crook—the one you donated to the exhibit! We couldn't let them—"

"And you!" Grandfather Jones turned to Mike. "I would've thought that _you_, at least, would've known better!"

"Yeah, um… Sorry about that," the Texan mumbled. "I'd just woken up after getting hit with the door; I wasn't thinking…"

"Believe us, Mr. Jones," Peter said, clasping his hands together. "Our intentions were most pure in this case; all we wanted to do was help!"

"And our efforts actually were working until that guy tripped and crashed into the display case," Micky said.

"Guys, you're not helping…" Davy said.

Grandfather Jones just sighed, shaking his head.

"We will discuss this back at the house," he insisted, and he silently indicated the car waiting for them.

Micky, trying to lighten the mood, hummed the theme from _Dragnet_ as Grandfather Jones led them to it, but he stopped at the look on Davy's face.

* * *

Despite the fact that he was still obviously irked at his grandson and his companions, Grandfather Jones did get them something to eat once they had returned to the house. The others dug in, but Davy was a bit nervous as he ate, certain that the other shoe was going to drop any time now.

He was right; Grandfather Jones hadn't even waited for them to finish before giving them the lecture.

"It was a most foolish decision, trying to do what you boys did back there," he said. "Whether or not I appreciate your efforts is completely irrelevant to the fact that you put yourselves in unnecessary danger!"

"You were the one running around, spying on people…" Davy said, quietly.

"That was my job, David. You boys are musicians, and you should stick to that," he replied.

"And you have my word, we will," Mike said. "We've got ourselves a gig in Paris that we're going to—"

"No," Davy said, quietly. "Mike, we can't just drop everything and pretend that we no longer have a role in this—not after what we figured out what's going on."

"You mean, Panama Hat guy going after the flail and the medallion?" Micky asked. "Yeah, that's right; those guys could show up here tonight looking for that medallion—they know it's here!"

"The medallion?" Grandfather Jones asked.

"Yeah," Peter said. "Some guy in the museum told us about the story—that you need all three to get the secret to unlimited wealth."

"Yes, I am familiar with that legend, seeing as though I've been doing my own research," Grandfather Jones said.

"Don't you see, though?" Davy said. "Micky's right. That lot will be here, sooner or later, and they won't believe you when you say you don't know where the medallion is! It doesn't matter whether that dumb legend is true or not; I don't want them coming here and hurting you!"

"Now, that's enough," his grandfather chided. "David, it is not your responsibility to worry about me. I do not want you confronting those men, whether or not they get the medallion. And I shall try my best to prevent that from happening. I've been in contact with a retired lieutenant from the Royal Air Force; he's spending his days in Paris, and he has had more experience with Egyptian medallions than I have, and, apparently, there are other medallions just like the one upstairs. Once I find where in the attic the medallion is, I'll be sending it to him to see if it is like the one he'd seen before."

"Hey, why don't you let us give it to him?" Micky asked. "You won't have to risk the mail getting intercepted that way; and we are headed that way, anyway…"

"Intercepted mail?" Mike asked, incredulously.

"I saw it in a movie once… Hey, it could happen!"

Davy looked to his grandfather.

"Please?" he asked. "Micky's right again; let us take it. And if anyone comes by, you tell them the truth—that you gave it to us. By the time they find out where we've gone, we'll have given it to that lieutenant."

Grandfather Jones sighed.

"I still say that you boys shouldn't concern yourselves with it; I don't like the idea of you carrying that antiquity."

"Well, we're not about to lose it," Davy said, indignantly.

"That has nothing to do with it," the elderly man insisted. "It has everything to do with putting you in unnecessary danger."

"Davy… Guys," Mike said. "Just listen to him, huh? I'm with him on this; looking for trouble isn't something that we should be doing here."

"We're not trying to look for trouble," Peter reminded him. "We're trying to stay out of trouble by moving the thing that would cause trouble and giving that thing to someone else, so if there is trouble, we won't have any trouble dealing with the trouble—because we won't have any trouble!"

The others stared at him.

"Pete, you've been hanging around me too much," Micky said. "And I didn't quite get it all; can you repeat that again?"

"…I don't think so," Peter said, honestly.

"This whole discussion is pointless, anyway!" Mike declared. "Davy's gramps doesn't even remember where the thing is, right?"

"True," he replied. "I haven't seen the medallion in years; it is somewhere in the attic—and it would take an archaeologist time to properly excavate that, anyway!"

"What about the notes—your research?" Davy asked.

Grandfather Jones crossed to his writing desk, showing them a sheaf of papers. There were pages of notes and diagrams, including a few maps, as well.

"This is all the information that I managed to find concerning the three items of the Forbidden One," he said. "It was my hope to devote some time to searching for the medallion and put it and the crook on display, with an interactive exhibit concerning the legend behind it. The fact that I am unable to find the medallion, coupled with the theft of the crook seems to have rendered the whole thing pointless."

"Maybe not…" Davy said. "It's in the attic, right? We've got a few days before our Paris gig; we can search for it while we stay here! And then we can take it to that lieutenant in Paris!"

Grandfather Jones shook his head in exasperation.

"Oh, very well," he said, giving up. He then turned to Mike. "And I'm holding _you_ responsible; that better be the limit as to how far you boys go with this fiasco. Well, I suppose I have no say in what you or the other two do, but I am putting you in charge of making sure no harm comes to my grandson."

"With all due respect, Grandfather," Davy said, rolling his eyes. "I'm eighteen now; you can't—"

"You have my word; he'll be safe," Mike promised, cutting the younger boy off. Davy looked to him in surprise.

"I will hold you to that," Grandfather Jones promised. "Now… if you boys are finished eating, you may leave the plates here. David, show your friends to the guest rooms upstairs—they will find their luggage there. Yours is in your old room."

"Aw, we're not tired," Micky said. "Davy, take us to that attic; we can start searching!"

The younger boy grinned and led the way, pleased that they had gotten off the hook—though, in the back of his mind, he was curious as to why Mike had so readily made that promise.

* * *

As the days went by, Davy obligingly showed his friends more of Manchester. They also spent their time practicing their tunes, as well as huddling around the fireplace, playing board games when the evenings turned cold.

However, a good deal of their time was spent up in the attic, going through boxes and boxes of stuff that Grandfather Jones had acquired over the years.

"You oughta convince your grandfather to have some sort of garage sale with all this stuff," Peter said. "I mean, it's all just sitting here, gathering dust."

Micky opened a jewelry box and let out a low whistle as he found himself looking at an old, tarnished ring.

"Not all of it's collecting dust," he announced. "Hey, I wonder how much this'd be worth if we polished it up…"

"Forget it, Mick; it's not ours to take," Mike reminded him. "All we're here for is the medallion." He glanced at one of the diagrams to make sure he knew exactly what it looked like.

"Hey, fellas!" Davy exclaimed.

"You found it?!" Micky asked, eagerly.

"No, but I found a whole steamer trunk of things from the war; it might be in here!"

Mike walked over to his side, his eyebrows arched in interest as he pulled out a uniform from the trunk.

"Well, be sure to let Mick know if you find any 1940's spy gadgets," the Texan said, amused at the thought.

"Yeah, you gotta remind me to ask your grandfather about some of that stuff!" the brunet exclaimed, eagerly.

"I'm pretty sure a lot of it would still be classified," Davy said, though he was smiling at the thought, too. "Let's see here… more uniforms… Oh, an old passport…"

"Pair of boots," Mike said. "And polish for them, too…"

"Medal case, award certificates, a plaque…" Micky said.

Peter's eyes suddenly widened.

"Hey, guys…?" he asked.

"Some old money…" Micky said. "Must've been a petty cash fund he used to get around over there…"

"Guys?" Peter asked again.

"And a… coffeepot?" Mike added, picking it up after glancing at the tag on it, which read _To Felix, from the boys at Stalag 13; Happy Armistice_. Mike blinked as he took a look inside. "Correction: a coffeepot with a microphone attached to the upper lid. Here's a gadget for you, Mick!"

"Now that's perfect; simple, yet effective…" Micky said, appreciating the modified item.

"…Guys…?"

"He kept an old box of rations!" Davy exclaimed in surprise. "Wow, he's more sentimental than I thought—"

"_Guys_!"

The other Monkees turned to Peter, who was standing with an expression that was half-excited, with the other half mildly amused at how enthralled the others seemed to be with their irrelevant findings. Peter was holding Grandfather Jones's medal case up.

"Do you notice anything about these?"

It took them a moment to see it, but it soon stuck out like a sore thumb. All of the other medals in the case were standard issue, typical of what someone would receive after various accomplishments, but the one that Peter was pointing to had a larger circumference. It also had hieroglyphs carved upon it, and the image of a creature that matched the diagrams.

"It was in the perfect hiding place," the blond grinned. "With the other medals behind a glass box. So many people must've seen it every time they looked into the steamer trunk; it was in plain sight all along!"

It didn't matter to the others that they had missed so obvious—and so perfect—a hiding place. All that mattered now was that, despite losing at the museum, for once, they were ahead of their pursuers.

Hopefully, their lead would last.


	10. The Warning

_Notes: As some of my readers have already figured out, the retired RAF solider in this chapter that the guys speak to is a cameo from one of my other fandoms, Hogan's Heroes, which I've sadly neglected and hope to someday return to. The medallion story that he's referring to is a Hogan's Heroes fic I did two years ago called "A Soldier of Fortune." His rank has changed, only because I figured he'd have had a promotion since the war..._

* * *

The Monkees had triumphantly brought the medallion to Grandfather Jones, who, reluctantly, gave them the name and address of the man in Paris they were to contact. After they said their goodbyes, the quartet soon found themselves back once more in the City of Lights, looking again at all the familiar sights as they searched for their contact.

"What's the fella's name again?" Micky asked.

"We're looking for a Lt. Newkirk, retired from the Royal Air Force," Davy said, looking at the paper he had received from his grandfather. "We're supposed to give him the medallion and Grandfather's notes, and it'll be out of our hands then."

"Where are the notes and medallion?" Peter asked. "I hope we didn't leave them back at the hotel…"

"I have them," Davy assured him, pulling the notes out of his pocket. "I didn't want to risk leaving them in the luggage in case someone rooted through our bags while our backs were turned."

"And the medallion?" Micky asked.

Davy pulled up at a thick thread around his neck, and the medallion appeared from his shirt.

"You're _wearing_ that?" Mike asked, his eyebrows arched.

"I'll admit, it's not much of a fashion statement," Davy said. "But it was the easiest way to carry it around."

"I don't know, Tiny," the Texan said, looking at the medallion with an element of distrust. "Maybe it's me, but I'd think that something being called the 'Medallion of the _Forbidden_ One' would suggest that wearing it might not be such a good idea. I mean, it's probably forbidden for a very good reason."

"Are you saying that you believe in that legend?" Davy asked, looking to his friend in amusement.

"I'm not saying that," Mike said. "I'm just saying that it may not be a good idea to… well… wear it like that. All legends aside, it's old, and you don't know where it's been; there could be three thousand years' worth of germs on that thing."

"Then I'll scrub up like a good little boy after we hand it over," Davy promised, giving Mike a good-natured pat on the shoulder.

"I don't know, Man," Micky said. "I'm with Mike on this. You probably shouldn't be wearing that thing."

"Yeah," Peter said. "Better safe than sorry, don't you think?"

Davy shrugged and removed the medallion from around his neck, but he still held it in his hand, his fingers grasped around it. Mike bit his lip as a feeling of unease grew within him, but he decided not to say anything; their role in this would soon be finished, anyway… Well, at least he certainly hoped so…

Davy now found the residence they were looking for—a rather large house adjoining a restaurant. Upon ringing the doorbell, they were granted admittance after explaining that Grandfather Jones had sent them to meet with Lt. Newkirk, and they were soon led to a study, where an elderly man sat in an armchair. His eyebrows arched in amusement as he saw that there were four visitors.

"Cor, you can't all be Felix Jones's grandsons, can you?" he asked, the Cockney accent still thick in his voice, despite his age.

"Just me," Davy said, with a smile. "I'm David Jones; I was the one he called you about. These three are—"

"Your best china; I know 'ow it is," Newkirk said, with a wave of his hand. "You're talking to someone who's been there before, Chum. Whole reason why I'm 'ere in Paris instead of jolly old England."

Mike cleared his throat.

"It's not that I'm averse to reminiscing about England, just so you know," Mike said. "I mean, I could talk about Texas all day. But we've got a bit of an important reason as to why we're here, and—"

"Right," Davy said, uncurling his fingers from the medallion. "What can you tell us about this?"

"Blimey…" Newkirk murmured, taking the artifact on one hand and holding up a jeweler's lens with the other.

"Mr. Jones told us that you'd had some sort of experience with a medallion like this before," Peter said.

"That I 'ave," the lieutenant replied. "This one 'ere looks almost identical to the one I saw years and years ago, during the war…"

"So there were two Medallions of the Forbidden One?" Micky asked, puzzled. "I thought the medallion went with the crook and the flail; that's what Mr. Jones's notes say, anyway. Show him, Davy."

Davy handed over the notes now; Newkirk took a look through them.

"It is possible for something like this to be part of more than one set," the lieutenant said, at last. "I ain't trying to deny that it's part of this three-piece set regarding the curse of gold. But it's also one of a set of medallions. I've 'eard that there were seven total; I'd only ever seen one—until today, that is."

"And are they all like this one?" Davy asked. "Promising you fame or riches or things like that?"

"Oh, goodness, no," the old soldier said. "I'm surprised that this thing is passing itself off as benevolent, actually. The medallion that I saw gave whoever it was used against terrible visions."

"What kind of visions?" Micky asked.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to worry your 'ead with all of that," the lieutenant said. "Especially since the ruddy thing can't 'urt anyone anymore. It's smashed, it is—shattered to pieces. And if you want my advice, you'll arrange for the same to 'appen to that little trinket you're carrying around there."

"Destroy it?" Davy exclaimed. "But this is my grandfather's! He wouldn't want it destroyed!"

"Well, from what I remember of old Felix, 'e wouldn't want anything 'appening to 'is grandson, either. And I do believe that'd take precedence over any old antiquity. You came to me for advice, and that just what I've done; whatever action you take will be your own burden, then."

"I think you've made the point quite clear," Mike said. "And I've got just one more question for you."

"Go on."

"Do you have a hammer we can borrow for just a minute?"

"Ah, sorry, Chum; it'll take more than force to break that thing. There's usually some sort of condition you need to fulfill. You'll 'ave to consult the legend to find out exactly 'ow to go about it."

"You saw your medallion break. How was that curse broken?" Peter asked.

"I 'ad to let the visions play out—and survive it. That's 'ow those medallions work, you know," Newkirk said. "It's some sort of dark game, it is; one big test, and those who are faint of 'eart are done for."

Davy let out a gulp as the lieutenant now consulted the papers written by Grandfather Jones.

"…Though, from what I'm seeing 'ere, all you need to do is to find the Flail of the Forbidden One in Peru," the lieutenant said. "There's a chamber nearby where you can place the medallion in a special stone. You then use the Crook and the Flail to shatter it. Makes sense, when you think about it—the very things that give the Medallion power can be what takes those powers away."

"That sounds like a book I read," Peter said. "It's about a hobbit who has to destroy this ring—"

"Not now, Pete," Micky said.

"Well, that's great that it's so simple," Mike said. "So, if you could just do us a favor and—"

"Simple? No; it's not simple, Chum—never simple. There'll be traps—you can bet on that. And even then, once you get past the physical barriers, there'll be the mental ones. These medallions try to attack your minds; breaking your will is what they try to do. I wouldn't be surprised if this 'Curse of Avarice,' they've been going on about is induced by the medallion itself."

"So the longer you hold onto the thing, the crazier you become?" Micky asked, with a shudder.

"It could very well be," Newkirk said, with a grim nod.

"But that's not possible," Davy said. "It's just a legend—this whole thing about gold and curses… It can't possibly be real!"

"I thought as much, meself," Newkirk said. "That was before I got me 'ands on that other medallion all those years ago. I tell you… What 'appened to me back there was no tale or legend. I saw things that no living soul was meant to see—and I wouldn't dismiss any legend so quickly. I don't want you 'aving to go through what I did, and I'm sure that this medallion will 'ave you lot seeing things you never wanted to see."

"It already has," Peter said. "We think we have some guys on our tail because of this; they took the Crook already."

"Well, that does bring some difficulties with it, doesn't it?" the lieutenant sighed. "Still, it is a minor consolation that the medallion's powers to turn things into gold can't be activated without all three pieces. Of course, being able to destroy the ruddy thing would've been the best option."

"Well, good luck with trying," Mike said. "Davy, hand the medallion over to the man like we promised your gramps."

"But, Mike—"

"Now, Davy."

Davy sighed, but reluctantly held the medallion out to the lieutenant. The old soldier, however, leaned back to get away from it.

"Sorry, Boys," he said, plainly. "After the experience I 'ad with the last medallion, I've 'ad no wish to run afoul of another one. Plus, I'm too old for this, I am; I'm not at an age where I can go gallivanting around the world."

"You don't understand," Mike said. "We… I promised Mr. Jones—"

"Believe me, I understand that," Newkirk said. "But I've made promises, too. Me best mate owns the restaurant next door to 'ere, see? I've made promises to 'im that the time of our doing dangerous work is over. If I was younger, I'd 'ave been more than willing to take that medallion off of your 'ands."

Mike sighed.

"Well, I guess it would be too much to ask of you," he reluctantly admitted. "But do you know anyone we can give it to?"

"I'd suggest putting it in a safety deposit box in a bank," Newkirk said. "Best place for it; no one would come into contact with it, and you could keep it there and forget about it until the other two relics of the Forbidden One turn up again."

"That could work," Peter agreed. "I say we do it."

"But not here, though," Micky said. "Those creeps are liable to still be looking for it here. We ought to get a safety deposit box back when we get back to Malibu. And then we can forget about the whole thing."

Mike exhaled, silently voicing his displeasure of the situation. They had no choice, of course. As much as he wanted to get the medallion off of their hands now, it was true that they couldn't ask so much from an old, retired solider who had, undoubtedly, endured more than his share of danger in the past.

"Well, I guess it's settled, then," Davy said, taking the medallion back from the lieutenant and then placing the antiquity into his pocket. "We know what we have to do. But, just for the sake of keeping things sane, maybe we shouldn't tell my grandfather about this new development."

"Well, if your grandfather finds out, I can assure you that it won't be from me," Newkirk promised. "I 'ave no desire to get told off by Felix because I didn't want to take that thing from you…"

"Then we're agreed," Davy said. "Right, Fellas?"

"Right," Micky said, thinking that they had, at last, arrived at the best option.

"I guess so," Peter said, not so sure.

One voice was absent, refusing to voice his assent.

"Mike?" Davy asked.

The Texan shook his head slightly.

"I don't like it," he said, plainly. "I don't like not being able to wash our hands of this whole thing like I'd hoped we would be able to. And I don't like being made a liar—since I can't keep my promise to your gramps when he wanted me to make sure that you wouldn't get involved in it anymore!"

Unbidden came the image of Rico's sneering face, as though taunting him over his situation; he could almost hear the insulting words: _a boor is notorious for not being able to keep his promises_…

"Mike?" Davy said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's going to be alright, Mike. You don't have to worry. And don't worry about Grandfather; I'm sure he'll agree with you that you did the best you could."

As Micky and Peter gave their wholehearted agreement, Mike found that he could only give a wan smile in response. Yes, he had done the best he could've done under the circumstances.

But he had a terrible feeling that his best wouldn't be good enough for what lay ahead.


	11. Listen to the Band

The Monkees eventually took their leave of the lieutenant and went back to their hotel room. They didn't have too much time; their visit with the lieutenant had taken longer than they had expected, so they only had time to grab their instruments and head to the rock festival.

"We're going to have to hide that medallion until we're able to get back to California," Micky said, as they prepped their instruments offstage. "But it has to be good…"

"Just leave it to me," Davy said.

Mike winced.

"I'd really rather not…" he said.

"Mike, for crying out loud, if you believe in the curse, just say so!" Davy said, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

"I don't know what to believe," Mike said, honestly. "I honestly don't know. But… Well, I figure better safe than sorry. And especially after your gramps made me promise that I wouldn't—"

"Mike, please. Grandfather just can't grasp that I'm of age and don't need someone looking after me."

"Actually, Mike's got a point," Peter said. "I think we should carry that thing in shifts, so if there is a curse, one person doesn't fall under its spell."

Davy looked to Peter now in disbelief.

"Okay, fine," he said. "I'll take the first shift."

"You've held onto that thing long enough," Mike said. "I think you ought to hand it over now, Tiny."

The Texan made a grab for the English boy's pocket, but Davy deftly jumped out of the way.

"I'll hand it over after the gig," he said. "I really can't believe this; when did you fellas start believing in curses?"

"Ever since you dated that chick who turned out to be a vampire," Micky said, without missing a beat.

"Ever since we spent the night in that haunted mansion that we thought wasn't really haunted, but then it turned out to actually be haunted," Peter said.

"Ever since Mr. Zero started giving us trouble," Mike added, so grimly that the other three stared at him. "First when he tried to swap his harp for Peter's soul, and then when he messed with our heads so that we couldn't remember each other. Or have you forgotten about what we went through?"

The smile was wiped from Davy's face in an instant. The topic of Mr. Zero's attempts to drive them apart had, unanimously, been declared a topic to avoid bringing into conversation. If Mike was playing this card now, then he truly was worried sick, and Davy was just now realizing that.

"That's what this is really all about, isn't it?" Davy asked him, quietly. "Less about making promises to my grandfather, and more about avoiding another situation like… that one we had?"

"The promise to your gramps is part of it," Mike said. "But so is this."

Davy bit his lip.

"Okay," he said. "I'll give the medallion to one of you fellas after the gig."

"Care to make that official?" Mike asked, placing his hand out.

Davy looked to him, knowing that he intended Davy to make a vow—and that he would hold him to it.

"Come on, Davy," Peter said, softly, adding his hand to Mike's. "If there's really no curse, and nothing's wrong with that medallion, you shouldn't have any trouble handing it over to us, right?"

"What they said," Micky said, adding his hand to the pile.

Davy let out a little scoff of disbelief.

"You must be joking!" he exclaimed. "Fellas, may I remind you that this medallion belongs to my grandfather? That means that I should be the one who—"

"He wanted it off of your hands," Mike reminded him. "Why is this so difficult for you?"

"It's not difficult!" Davy said.

"Then prove it," the Texan said, flatly. "Make the vow."

Davy shrugged, but added his hand to the others'.

"I vow that I will hand over the medallion to one of you three after the gig. There. Happy now?"

"Yeah, I think so," Mike said. "Now we can get back to the business at hand. They've put us fifth, for some reason—right after the Four Martians. How's the crowd out there, Shotgun?"

Peter took a peek offstage.

"Wow, what a crowd!" he exclaimed. "Looks mostly like a good one!"

"Mostly?" Micky repeated.

"Yeah, I just found where Rico is sitting," Peter sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Front and center."

Mike muttered something under his breath, and he blinked as he felt Davy's hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," the younger boy said, softly. "Don't mind him. We won't have to deal with him ever again after the gig is over. And it's not likely that he'd get a chance to say anything to you now."

Despite himself, Mike managed a slight smile. Davy's concern for him and for Micky and Peter was forever strong—the Power of Love had helped them stop Zero's plans from succeeding. And if there was a curse on the medallion, Mike knew that he could count on the Power of Love to help them out again.

But he didn't want it to come to that. And, hopefully, it wouldn't have to; they would be heading home the first thing in the morning. More importantly, Davy would be getting the medallion off of his hands as soon as this gig was over…

Mike's thoughts were halted by Peter's sudden "Uh-oh…"

"Uh-oh what?" Micky asked, not liking the sound of that. "Is Cyndia still with him?"

"Yeah, but I figured she would be," he said. "It's just that… I saw someone else in the audience that I recognized…"

"Who?" Davy asked.

"I… think you guys better look for yourselves…"

Davy, Mike, and Micky now crowded around Peter, trying to see exactly who he had seen. It was Micky who spotted him first.

"Oh, man…" he said, his eyes going wide. "It's that guy who stole the Crook from the Manchester Museum!"

"What!?" Davy exclaimed. "He must be here for the medallion… But how did he know it was here in Paris?" A look of panic crossed his face. "No… Oh no…"

"Don't assume the worst yet, Tiny," Mike said, taking his turn to grip Davy's shoulder now. "Your gramps has dealt with bad guys before; Panama Hat probably had us followed from Manchester when we got involved with the robbery in the first place. He probably thinks we have the Medallion."

"We do," Peter pointed out.

"Yeah, but he doesn't know that," Micky said. "And let's keep it that way."

"Right," Davy said. He backed away to the wings of the stage, and pulled the medallion from his pocket and slipped it back around his neck and under his shirt.

"What are you doing!?" Mike hissed, his temporary good feeling upon Davy's earlier kind words starting to fade.

"I'm not risking having my pocket picked by one of his thugs!" the younger boy insisted. "Besides, I already promised you that I'd hand it over after the gig; stop worrying about it! We've got work to do here, anyway!"

Every fiber of Mike's being was completely opposed to Davy wearing the thing, but the emcee had just now noticed them at the wings of the stage and shooed them back to their instruments. She now strode out onto the stage, getting ready to launch the festival and announce the first act. He wasn't able to pay attention to the first four acts, and when it was time for them to go onstage, he was certain that he was playing his twelve-string on autopilot again, just as he had been during the auditions.

Peter sang first, leading with "Prithee," and once he had successfully charmed the audience (save for Rico, of course), Mike temporarily pushed his personal worries to the side and drawled out "Sweet Young Thing." It did not escape the Texan that Rico was speaking softly to Cyndia while he sang, pointing right at him as he did so; Mike's face was a little flushed as a result, prompting Davy to glare daggers at Rico, daring him to stand up and say something as Davy slammed his fist against his tambourine with a little more force than was probably necessary.

Mike found himself relaxing slightly at Davy's behavior. This was normal—what he wanted to see. Maybe… maybe there was no curse attached to that medallion after all, and they were all worried over nothing…

Davy looked to him after the song ended, and Mike gave him a nod, mouthing, "_Knock 'em dead, Tiny!_" as he started the opening riff of "Valleri."

Davy grinned broadly and proceeded to do just that, a fire alight in his eyes as he danced while he sang, even pulling off an impressive dance number he had been apparently working on that involved him throwing his tambourine into the air, following with a quick glide-and-step across the stage, and finishing by catching the tambourine in one hand, all while continuing to sing without missing a beat.

It was during one of these onstage acrobatic maneuvers, though, that he misjudged the arc he had thrown the tambourine, and had to hastily bend forward to catch it before it hit the stage floor. As he did so, the Medallion of the Forbidden One slipped out from under his shirt. It remained around his neck, but now it sparkled and shone under the stage lights as he continued to dance around.

Mike bit his lip, still playing by instinct as he cast a nervous glance at where the thief was sitting. It was too much to hope that the medallion had gone unnoticed; it was far too conspicuous. And, sure enough, Panama Hat was now staring unblinkingly at Davy with an unreadable expression.

Mike now tried to catch Davy's eye to warn him about Panama Hat, but Davy was in a another world altogether, lost in the music. Well… at least, that's what Mike hoped Davy's mind was lost in…

When the song finally ended and Davy gave his most winning smile to the cheering audience, Peter approached him now, handing over his bass and staring pointedly at the medallion.

It was only then that Davy seemed to have noticed that the medallion had been visible. He cast a quick glance at Panama Hat and was unnerved to see that the man was staring straight at him, unblinkingly.

Davy was more than willing to back off to Mike's side as Peter retreated to his keyboard, and they launched into "Pleasant Valley Sunday."

Mike gave his younger friend a sideways glance as they played, trying to read the expression in his eyes. Davy even looked to Mike halfway through the song, giving him a reassuring smile.

"_I'm alright, Mike; I promise_," he mouthed.

"_I hope so, Tiny. I hope so_," Mike mouthed back.

They soon both focused on singing their backup parts as Micky sang the lead from behind his drums.

And despite the worries and uncertainties that had been filling their heads, all four of them—even Mike—took a moment to soak up the wild applause that was being sent their way after the song had ended.

They finished up with their encore of "Listen to the Band," kick-started by Davy, who had glanced back at Rico to see him pointing at Mike again, much to Davy's anger; the boy had retaliated in the best way possible—launch into Mike's unofficial anthem for the band. Micky and Peter quickly followed suit by accompanying Davy, and Mike took a moment to appreciate Davy's efforts before harmonizing along with him.

It was after that song that their allotted fifteen minutes of the festival had ended; the Monkees took their bows and headed off the stage with their instruments, congratulating each other.

"Well, my trusty comrades," Mike said. "We just completed our first rock festival gig and our first international gig all in the same evening!"

"A very profitable evening," Davy assessed.

"And now we can sit back and relax while we watch the other acts!" Micky said.

"Not really," Mike informed him. "We've got Panama Hat in the audience, and we ought to be as far away from here as possible if we're going keep that medallion away from him. And speaking of that medallion…"

He trailed off, looking at Davy, who gulped. He had been hoping that the Texan had forgotten.

"I believe that you made me—and Micky and Peter, too—a vow," Mike said. "Something about handing over that medallion so that you wouldn't be the one to be carrying it around all the time…"

"Correct, young man," a gruff voice said, behind him. "He will hand it over to us to carry!"

The Monkees found their way through backstage blocked by none other than Panama Hat himself, leering at all of them.


	12. Don't Shake My Hand

_Notes: I'm super-busy this weekend (due to a hopeful opportunity to see the real Monkees), so here, have the chapter early!_

* * *

Mike had almost given the call for a tactical retreat when several of Panama Hat's flunkies now approached them from all sides, trapping them.

"Uh, listen…" Mike said. "You can have autographs after the festival's over, okay? Heck, we'll even pose for photos, but we've gotta—"

"I'm not talking to you, Boy," Panama Hat snarled, shoving Mike out the way.

The Texan toppled over to the floor, clutching his guitar so that it wouldn't be damaged in the fall.

"Mike!" the others exclaimed.

Davy scowled as he looked back at Panama Hat, taking a step towards him.

"You're the one I want to talk to," the man said. "Those three may leave if they want to do so."

"Well, we don't wanna do so!" Micky retorted, as they helped Mike back to his feet. "Anything you've got to say to Davy, you can say to us."

"And before that, I demand to know what you've done with my grandfather," Davy insisted.

"We haven't done a thing to the old fool," Panama Hat insisted. "I had one of my men hiding in your back garden the last several days. You boys would do well to make sure windows are closed before you discuss about finding ancient artifacts."

"They knew we had the medallion all along…" Peter realized.

"You had us worried when you met with the old lieutenant," the thief continued. "We were certain you would have given it to him, but it seems that he was wise enough not to get involved. No matter. I'm here to take it off of your hands, if that is what you wish."

"It is _not_ what I wish," Davy retorted. "This medallion is _mine_."

There was something in the way that Davy stressed the word "mine" that sent a chill down Mike's spine. For the briefest moment, he considered that giving Panama Hat the medallion may not have been such a bad idea after all.

"You're not being very smart," the man said. "Why waste your time holding onto a grubby, little trinket like that? I have plenty of other art treasures worth infinitely more; we could organize a trade for it. Or, if you don't want anything else, we can negotiate a monetary price."

"No, thanks," Davy said.

The man blinked in surprise, and then chuckled.

"I see. So, you know of the significance of the trinket you carry. Then it is clear that I must put my cards on the table."

"Doesn't matter," Mike said. "We're not playing this game. Now I suggest you let us go before we get security over here to make you."

"This is a just-once-in-a-lifetime deal, Boy," the man said. "But let me introduce myself. My name is Sydney."

Silence followed.

"Sydney what?" Peter asked.

"That's it—just Sydney!" the man snarled at Peter.

"Well, Mr. Sydney, I might as well tell you that it doesn't matter what you offer us," Davy said, folding his arms stubbornly. "We're not selling the medallion, and we're not trading it, either."

"Come on, Boy," Sydney said, smirking. "Since you know the legend, you know as well as I do that the medallion is absolutely useless on its own. We're both in the exact same position, aren't we? We're stuck with an artifact that, without the others, won't do a thing. You want more, don't you?"

Davy turned his head ever so slightly towards Sydney, but didn't say a thing.

"You know what the three items can unlock—endless gold. And that's more than enough for the both of us, get my drift?"

"What are you saying?" Davy asked, his voice steady despite the nervous look in his eyes.

"I'm saying that we each have one of the three items we need to unleash the Golden Spell," Sydney said. "We could join forces—travel to Peru together to retrieve the Flail. And then we could be the richest men in the world."

Davy scoffed.

"You think I am kidding or lying?" Sydney asked.

"Yes," Davy, Micky, and Peter chorused. Mike didn't say anything; he was looking at Davy—and at the look in his eyes.

"See some reason, Boy," Sydney said, smirking. "You're a struggling musician—that's evident enough from where I'm standing. Don't you want to be wealthy and able to win the world?"

Davy bit his lip as Micky and Peter now looked to him for his reply, and Mike continued to watch him.

"Your friends would be taken care of, of course," the man continued. "You'll have more than enough gold for all four of you to live in luxury for the rest of your lives. Isn't that what you want? Isn't there someone you want to impress—someone to whom you want to prove that you're not just a struggling musician?"

Davy's fingers twitched, and he absently clutched at the string around his neck upon which the medallion was threaded.

"What do you say, Boy?" Sydney asked.

Davy opened his mouth, but he didn't have a chance to speak.

"Okay, that's it!" Mike said, grabbing Davy by his shoulder and pulling him to his side. "We're done here—_done_! I'll answer for him: we don't want any part of it, now clear out of here!" When Sydney just smirked in response, Mike's voice rose as he called towards a uniformed officer. "Security!"

Sydney cursed, and he and his men began to disperse as Security arrived on the scene. In the ensuing commotion, Mike led the tactical retreat, and the Monkees, instruments and all, managed to get away and head for their hotel.

* * *

Mike was not in a good mood. Upon arriving at the hotel, he immediately ordered Peter to start packing their instruments and luggage away while he instructed Micky to get on the phone to the airport and see if they could get their tickets back to the States rescheduled to an earlier flight instead of waiting for morning, and then to call the people in charge of the rock festival to see to getting the rest of their money sent to them in California.

"What do you want me to do?" Davy asked, moving to help Micky and Peter, but stopping as he found Mike grabbing his shoulder.

"You are going to have a little talk with me—right _now_," the Texan said, pulling Davy to the quietest place he could find—the elevator in the corridor.

"Mike, what's going on!?" Davy asked, baffled, as Mike closed the door. "Peter could use some help, packing four sets of—"

"You were thinking about saying 'yes,' weren't you?" Mike accused.

"What are you talking about?"

"Back there, when old Panama Hat was trying to sweeten the pot for you with that proposed alliance," the Texan quipped. "You were actually considering taking him up on his offer, weren't you!?"

He got distracted as the elevator doors opened as a woman attempted to get inside with them.

"Sorry, this one's taken," Mike quipped, closing the doors again. He ignored the woman's "Harrumph" of annoyance and turned back to Davy. "I want the truth, Davy. Were you going to say yes?"

"Well, I figured that we ought to weigh all our options, at least," the younger boy said. "I mean… Well… We could sure use the money, couldn't we? That's the entire reason we took this gig with the rock festival."

Mike facepalmed, growling in frustration.

"What is with you, Mike?" Davy asked, blinking in surprise.

"What's with me!?" the Texan repeated, incredulously. "Are you listening to yourself!? Since when have you ever even considered making a deal with a known thief!? He stole that crook from the museum! You were there! And now you're telling me—I said this elevator's taken!" he roared as the woman tried to open the doors again. He furiously shut the doors and turned back to Davy. "And now you're telling me that you're willing to trust this creep and go after the gold?!"

"What's wrong with just using a little bit of the spell?" Davy asked. "Think about it, Mike—all those pebbles and shells on our beach? We could just turn a handful or two into gold, and we'll be set for life!"

Mike looked at him, incredulously.

"Why are you looking at me like I've got two heads or something?" Davy asked. "You're the one who keeps saying you want to be a success!"

"I don't want to buy success; I want to _earn_ it!" Mike quipped back. "And so should you!"

"Well, we're doing _great_ so far, aren't we?!" Davy retorted, sardonically. "Never mind that Rico was most likely calling you a boor again while you were singing! If we were rich, he'd stop that, you know!"

Mike gritted his teeth, stung.

"What's wrong with just using the medallion and the other items for only a little while?" Davy went on. "I'm not trying to make myself king of the world, you know; I'm just trying to make life easier for all of us—not just me. So why do you seem to have such a big problem with that!?"

"My problem is that this medallion you've been lugging around is messing with your head! It's—_will you stop that_!?" Mike bellowed, as the woman attempted to open the elevator doors a third time. Mike closed the doors again, this time not removing his finger from the button as he turned back to face Davy. "That medallion is doing terrible things to you, Davy! It's turning you into someone you're not—horrible and greedy and caring only about getting rich!"

"What are you talking about? It's me—it's Davy."

"No," Mike said, shaking his head. "No, it's not. It's not you. I don't know who this is, but whoever it is, I don't like him. I want my best friend back!"

Davy blinked, biting his lip at Mike's last words.

"But, Mike, I'm still—"

"Don't," the Texan instructed, quietly. "Don't try using words to get yourself out of this one. The longer you hold onto that medallion, the more I lose my best friend—and the more you lose yourself, too. Don't do that to us—or to Mick or Pete, either. Don't hurt us like this. Please."

"Mike, I… You know I'd never want to hurt you."

"The prove it," Mike said, holding his free hand out. "Give me that medallion—right now. You made a vow to all of us, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," Davy said, his fingers grasping the thread around his neck. He started to remove it, but stopped.

"…What are you waiting for?" Mike asked, his nervousness and worry growing as Davy's grip on the thread tightened.

"Well, I was just thinking," Davy said. "It might be a better idea if I hold onto it for just a bit more; Panama Hat might expect that I'd give it to one of you, and we wouldn't want him trying to—"

"At this point, I'd rather just let him have the darn thing!" Mike shot back. "Anyone can have it—just not you!"

"So that's it, isn't it!?" Davy quipped. "You want it for yourself! And here I was, all ready to share it with you and Micky and Peter!"

And that was when Mike snapped.

"I don't want it!" he retorted. "I want _it_ to let go of _you_!"

He rushed forward, grabbing for the medallion himself. Davy's eyes widened, and he quickly grabbed Mike's wrist, trying to stop him.

"Leave me alone!" Davy ordered. "You're not the boss of me! Grandfather isn't, either, but you definitely aren't!"

"Well, I just made myself the boss!" Mike retorted, grabbing for the medallion with his other hand, only to have Davy grab his other wrist.

The exceedingly-annoyed woman outside now attempted to open the door a fourth time; with both of Mike's wrists in Davy's hands, there was nothing to stop her from succeeding this time.

Seeing the opportunity to flee, Davy shoved Mike aside and dashed past the woman and out into the corridor.

All the righteous anger Mike was feeling left him as he stared blankly after the English boy. He leaned against the wall of the elevator, not even paying attention to the woman as she screeched at him for being rude.

He hadn't intended to lose his temper, but seeing Davy slowly turning into this person he no longer recognized had been too much. And all of those things he had said… Mike had to repeatedly remind himself that it hadn't been the real Davy talking—because Mike knew that that the real Davy was his friend.

And, for his sake, he had to hope that it wasn't too late to save his friend.

With a sigh, Mike sunk to his knees onto the elevator floor, blinking back a tear that had been threatening to escape his eye.

How? How had things gotten so out of hand so quickly?


	13. The Children Left King Midas There

_Notes: I know I've done a pretty good job of updating this every week, but it's beginning to look as though that my updates for this will be a bit infrequent for a while; December is bringing the promise of fic contests/challenges/commissions that I'm going to be participating in, and January is just plain busy. However, I will try my very best to update this (and LS & UJ) as often as I can, and my readers will be pleased to know, I'm sure, that among my December projects are two Monkees fics, so I won't be absent from the fandom by any means._

* * *

Both Micky and Peter looked up in surprise as Davy returned to the room alone with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Where's Mike?" Micky asked, seeing that he wasn't following the English boy back into the room.

"At the elevator," Davy said, casually, as though nothing had happened.

"What did you two talk about?" Peter asked.

"Oh, this and that," Davy said, waving a hand in dismissal. "Nothing important, really. How're things here?"

"I'm just about done with the packing," Peter announced, though he didn't seem convinced by Davy's declaration that everything was fine.

"And the festival guys will mail us our money, no problem," Micky said. "But the airline wants more information about our original reservations if we're supposed to reschedule our flight back. And I don't have our itinerary information. Peter, do you see the itinerary lying around anywhere?"

"No, but I think Mike has it," the blond said, eager for a reason to go to find the Texan and make sure things were okay. "I'll go get it from him."

"Hey, thanks," Micky called after him, as Peter headed out the door. "Well, nothin' for me to do until I get the info. So, really, what did you talk about?"

"I told you, this and that. It really doesn't matter," Davy insisted.

Micky blinked, surprised by how curt and cold Davy seemed.

"Is this about that medallion?"

Davy now frowned as he turned sharply to face the brunet, causing him to retreat a couple of steps.

"Oh, so now you're thinking that this medallion is making me mental, too!?' he accused. "Let me tell you something—and please feel free to tell Mike what I said once you hear his version of the story—this medallion belonged to my grandfather, which makes me the only one out of the four of us with a right to handle it. And if I want to use it or want to make a deal with someone who's going to use it, then that's my business, understand!? Do you understand me, Micky!?"

Micky stared at him, open-mouthed for a moment, but nodded, making sure that Davy couldn't mistake him.

"Yes… yes, I understand perfectly," he said, now beginning to realize Mike was keeping his distance and why Peter had ducked out. In fact, it was all Micky could do to not bolt out the door after Peter.

He didn't know exactly what was going on, only that this was not the Davy he knew—and that regardless of what Davy was insisting, this change for the worse was all because of that medallion.

"Good," Davy said, folding his arms and sitting in the chair. "I'm glad we cleared that up."

"Yeah," Micky said. "I'm, uh… I'm going to finish up the rest of Peter's packing. Don't get up."

Davy let out a grunt in reply, and Micky was glad for the excuse to drop the conversation, hoping that this would, somehow, get itself resolved before things happened that Davy would end up regretting.

And as Micky realized that it was most unlike Mike to keep his distance from Davy, he had to wonder whether such a thing had already occurred.

* * *

Peter was beginning to get a bit concerned when he couldn't find Mike in the corridor; he seemed to have disappeared. Either Mike had been extremely upset by the previous conversation with Davy, or Sydney and his men had paid Mike a visit while he was alone—neither of which was a good thing, but the latter possibility was definitely worse and more worrisome than the former.

"Mike?" Peter called, as he headed down the corridor. "Mike, where are you!? Can you hear me!?"

He passed the elevator just as the bell chimed and the doors opened. Mike was still kneeling on the floor of the elevator, his head leaning against the wall. His eyes were noticeably red, but he was refusing to cry.

"Mike…!" Peter gasped, entering the elevator. "What happened, Mike!?"

"Oh, nothing," the Texan said, quietly, not even looking up at Peter. "I just… lost my best friend, that's all."

"You want to talk about it?" Peter asked.

"What's there to talk about?" Mike sighed. "That medallion has turned Davy into someone I don't know. And trying to take it from him won't work; he'll put up a fight to keep that thing…"

He cringed, shutting his eyes.

"He's gone, Peter. I was looking at him in the eyes, and it wasn't him. He wasn't in there."

"You don't really believe that, do you?"

"I don't want to, but that thing has messed with his head," Mike said. "He broke that vow he made to us like it was nothing—"

"Well, you know that his self-discipline has never been all that great…" Peter pointed out.

"He was ready to fight me," Mike said.

"But he didn't," Peter pointed out.

"Only because he decided to run away instead," the Texan said. "I did everything I could, Peter. I even used the one thing I was sure could never fail—the same power that got us through our encounters with Mr. Zero. Our friendship. It didn't work."

"What are you saying, then?" Peter asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're giving up on Davy, just like that? After everything that the two of you have been though over four years?"

"He clearly doesn't want my help anymore."

"But he needs it," Peter said. "This medallion is making him a prisoner in his own mind, and it's up to all of us to help him get free—but especially you, when you mean so much to him. You took him under your wing when he was just 14; do you really think that Davy's going to throw all of that away?"

"It would seem he already has."

"Oh, for crying out loud, Mike!" Peter exclaimed, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him slightly to get some sense into him. "It's not like you to throw in the towel like that! I can't believe that you'd ever abandon Davy to a fate like this! And do you want to know how I know that?"

"Enlighten me."

"Because the last four years haven't only been about the things that you've done for Davy," Peter said. "They're also about all of the things that Davy's done for you! You owe him a lot!"

Mike's shoulders went rigid for a moment as Peter's words struck a chord in him. He was right, of course; Davy would've been the first to say that he had never seemed to be able to do anything for Mike in exchange for all that Mike did for him, but Mike had always known otherwise.

Unbidden came the memory of the time when that spy, Madame Olinsky, had knocked him out with a karate chop. It had been Davy who had rushed to his side, trying to revive him, and then furiously diving into the fray to avenge him. When Mike had been scammed by Bernie Class, it had been Davy who had been the first to enter the room in which Mike had holed up in and try to cheer him up. And what about these last several days, when Rico had been taunting him unmercifully? Davy had been ready to get into a fistfight just to defend Mike's honor, and would have had he not been restrained.

The Texan cringed again, silently mouthing the English boy's name. He wanted his friend back… he wanted him back so much…

"That's why it hurts so much, doesn't it?" Peter asked. "Because we all know how Davy really is, and to see him like this is just awful. It makes me feel terrible, and that means it must be even worse for you…"

He trailed off as Micky joined them, looking rather shell-shocked.

"Can I hide with you guys?" he asked. "Davy keeps giving me a death glare, and he's creeping me out, and…" He trailed off, seeing the look on Mike's face. "Man, what did he do to you!?"

"It's not what he did to me directly," Mike said. "It's what he's doing to himself, and I can't do anything other than stand by and watch it happen."

"And I'm telling you that isn't true!" Peter countered. "Mike, I know you're hurting. We all are. And I think if we could get the real Davy to see how this is tearing us all up—tearing you up, especially, that might snap him out of it."

"He won't listen," Mike said. "There really isn't any point—"

"Of course there's a point!" Micky said. "Pete's right, you know; you're the one most likely out of the three of us to get some response from him."

"And what happens when that fails, huh?" Mike countered. "What happens when he just sneers and me and says that I don't know what the heck I'm talking about, and that I have no right to try to tell him what to do?!"

"Well, you can either keep on trying or give up," Peter said. "And I don't know about you, but I'm not giving up on Davy."

"Neither am I," Micky said. "Man, now I feel really bad about ditching him back there like I did…"

"So, what about you, Mike?" Peter asked, looking to him, now. "Are you going to give up on him?"

Mike looked from Peter to Micky, and then out into the corridor.

"No," he said. "I could never forgive myself if I didn't keep on trying to bring back the real Davy."

Peter and Micky both grinned.

"Come on; I think it's time for an impromptu band meeting," Micky said.

"No; let me try talking to him alone again…" the Texan said, a new hope forming in his heart.

Slowly, he headed back to the room, trying not to cringe again as he saw Davy look at him with an apathetic expression.

"So…" the younger boy said, casually. "I trust Micky went to you and whined about what I told him?"

"He didn't mention any specifics," Mike said. "But I think I've got the gist of it."

"I'm not handing over this medallion—_that's_ the gist of it," Davy said. "I don't owe you a thing, and certainly not this medallion."

Mike was about to say something about the four years they'd spent as friends and ask Davy if they really meant that little to him, but he stopped before the words were out of his mouth.

Guilt-tripping wouldn't work, Mike realized; the medallion seemed to suppress guilt, allowing greed to take its place. But there had to be a way to reach through to the real Davy, and as Mike once again recalled the times that Davy had always rushed to help or defend him, he suddenly knew what to do.

"Of course you don't owe me anything," he said, prompting Davy to blink in surprise at his sudden agreement. "But, then again, why would you? I'm just a boor, remember?" He paused, taking note that Davy had frozen in his seat, and he continued. "You could cast me away anytime you wanted to; I should consider it a privilege that you want to keep me around."

Davy started to tremble, and Mike debated continuing for a moment because he realized that he had to. This was working.

"I think that's why I don't get this whole medallion thing," he said. "Just too backwards to understand it—to understand the workings of your higher-class mind. I should never have questioned you. I'll… I'll go and leave you alone. No need to bother you with my presence."

He turned to go, but stopped as he heard Davy run across the room and then felt a pair of trembling hands on his arm. Mike turned back with a wan smile and looked down at him.

"Is that you, Tiny?"

Davy just responded with a hug, shaking from trying to hold back his sobs.

"I'm sorry, Mike!" he cried. "I'm so sorry! I don't even know what I was thinking… Mike… Mike, please don't go! You're not a boor—you're not! You're my best friend, and I don't know why I would ever say…" He couldn't even bring himself to repeat his earlier words. "Mike, what's happening to me!?"

Mike now returned the hug, grateful that he had managed to get through to him.

"It's that medallion," he said. "I told you, Davy—it's turning you into someone you're not. But you're still there, though, just like Pete said you'd be. And we're going to get through this—I swear."

Davy relaxed slightly, reassured by the Texan's words.

And Mike had to contend with a lump in his throat as he realized that his words alone were keeping his younger friend together. He had already been a liar once due to not being able to keep his promise to Davy's grandfather. The last thing he wanted now was to be a liar to Davy himself, and not be able to keep the promise he had just made.

And it was inevitable that this wasn't over. The medallion had already grabbed ahold of Davy, and it wasn't going to lose its grip so easily. It would try again to take him—to turn him into someone unrecognizable. And Mike knew that he could not allow it to succeed—for both of their sakes.


	14. Some You Win, Some You Lose

_Notes: Behold, it lives again! I dedicate this chapter to Midgie, the Girl Who Waited. Also, consider the cameo in this chapter a preview of what I'm planning in my next fic..._

* * *

It was a tense and quiet flight back to California; Mike had taken ahold of the medallion, but in what he deemed was the safest way possible—by holding it with a handkerchief, wrapping it up, and stuffing it in his woolhat, which he then placed in his guitar case.

He didn't feel any different, thankfully; he wanted to get rid of that thing more than anything. But what worried him was how quiet Davy had been throughout the flight; Micky and Peter both tried to get the English boy to converse, but he had clammed up.

Mike didn't even try, at this point. He was afraid of saying anything that would send Davy on a guilt trip, possibly causing him to withdraw further and allow the medallion's grip to try to take hold again. He assumed that was the medallion's intent, since he had yet to hear any voices whispering in his ear.

"You feeling… normal?" Micky asked him, once they had arrived back in Malibu.

"Yeah," Mike said, to their surprise. "I'm… I'm perfectly fine. Haven't even had a thought about the thing."

"I'm the one it wants," Davy said, quietly.

"Well, it's not going to get you," Peter said, before Mike could say it himself. "We're going to put that thing in a safety deposit box, just like that lieutenant said!"

"It'll have to wait until tomorrow, though," Micky said, indicating the date on one of the papers in a newsstand. "It's Sunday; the bank's closed."

"Well, first thing in the morning, then," Mike said, as he unlocked the front door of the Pad. "Ah, home sweet home…"

He yawned as the others followed him inside.

"I dunno about you guys, but's it's a Sunday afternoon, and I'm jet-lagged," he said, as he lugged his bag up the stairs after placing his guitar case in the alcove by force of habit. "I'm going to grab some shut-eye before I even start unpacking."

"Yeah, same here," Micky said, parking his drums by the alcove, as well.

"Count me in," Peter said, heading for his and Davy's downstairs room. "You, too, Davy?"

"Actually, I think I'm more hungry than tired," the English boy said.

"Well, don't eat too much," Mike called from the top of the stairs.

Davy didn't respond; he waited for all three of his bandmates to retire before running to the alcove and opening Mike's guitar case. Within thirty seconds, he grabbed the handkerchief-covered medallion from the woolhat and unwrapped it, holding it up by the string and staring at it.

For a moment, he thought of Mike—Mike, who had gone through such lengths to keep it from him, and had slipped up due to being too tired to think.

"I shouldn't do this…" Davy said, softly. "Mike wouldn't want this."

He froze; it was almost as though he could hear a voice.

_You don't need his approval. You all need the gold; he just doesn't realize it yet_.

Davy exhaled, a triumphant smirk on his face. The medallion was his again—as it should be. And now would be the perfect time, while everyone was asleep, to look into the location of the final item in the set. There had to be someone who could help decipher his grandfather's notes…

Davy immediately began to peruse the telephone book. There had to be a museum curator he could contact… They would know…

Davy paused as he noticed an advertisement in the Yellow Pages.

_Melody Malone's Antiques. Proprietor: R. Song, professor of archaeology_.

Davy almost went for the phone, but had second thoughts as Micky started talking in his sleep again. Not wanting to risk making the call if Mike woke up, Davy ripped the page from the phone book, which also listed the antique shop's address, and headed out the door, medallion in hand.

His decision had been a logical one. Mike was in a fitful sleep as it was, and Micky's sleep-induced insistence that he "hadn't stolen the cookies" was not helping.

But it was the dream that finally awakened Mike. He dreamed that he had been walking through a palace of gold bricks, the sunlight reflecting off of the metal, forcing him to squint as he progressed forward.

And there, seated on a throne, surrounded by piles of gold, was Davy.

There had been no recognition in the English boy's eyes as he gazed down upon Mike—not even when Mike stepped forward to greet him.

"Davy!" he exclaimed. "Tiny, what's going on!?"

The boy arched an eyebrow.

"Sorry… do I know you?"

Mike's heart skipped a few beats.

"Of course you do; it's your buddy, Mike!"

But Davy shook his head, completely uninterested.

"No, I'd remember someone like you—someone so… Oh, what _is_ the word I'm looking for…?"

Mike's lips pressed together into a thin line.

"Backward," he said.

It was Davy's mirthless laugh that followed that sickened Mike to the core—and what caused the Texan to awaken. He sighed, relaxing as he realized it was a dream, and then decided that he had napped long enough. However, the sight that awaited him at the bottom of the stairs sent a chill through his heart once again, for one look at the open guitar case told him everything he needed to know.

"Stupid, stupid, _stupid_!" he cursed himself, looking out the back door in the hopes that Davy was wandering the beach like he usually did when he wanted to be alone. But there was no trace of him—not even his footprints.

"Micky! Peter!"

A few more shouts got the two of them back up on their feet.

"What's the matter, Man?" Micky asked, yawning.

"Davy's gone—he took the medallion and split!"

"What!?" Peter exclaimed, shocked. "Where would he take it!?"

"Your guess is as good as mine!" Mike said. "He tore a page from the phone book before he went. Micky, see if you can deduce anything from that missing page." He furiously slammed the back door closed and let out a yell of frustration.

"Mike—" Peter began.

"I thought I was making progress!" Mike fumed. "I thought I was helping him free himself from that medallion's grip. It was working—I saw the old him again before we left Paris! What happened!?"

"Mike, you can't blame yourself for this," Micky said.

"Watch me."

"But it's true!" the brunet continued. "It's like Davy said himself—that thing wanted him for some reason."

"But why?" Mike wondered aloud. "Why him!? He was never greedy—all he cared about was having a good time with us, maybe chase after a few chicks now and then…"

"Rico really rattled him up," Peter said, softly. "Maybe that had something to do with it? Or maybe not. Maybe it just chose him because he was there. But it doesn't really matter why, does it? All that does matter is that we won't stop at nothing to get him back."

Mike winced, not sure about this at all.

"Come on, Mike!" Peter went on. "You said yourself that you were so close before we left Paris! Whatever you did then worked; you just have to try it again—keep on trying it until we get rid of that thing for good!"

Mike pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, but then nodded.

"Right. But first, we've gotta find him. Any luck, Mick?"

"Kind of," Micky replied. "The pages near the torn one are all about antique dealers, flea markets, pawn shops—hey! You don't think he took the medallion to Zero's place, do you!?"

Peter gasped, and Mike just looked horrified.

"That… could be why the thing chose him," Peter said, swallowing hard. "He's furious with you, Mike, and he knows that you and Davy go way back…"

"I don't know if this is Zero's doing," Mike said. "It's usually not his style; he likes to stick around and see the effects of his shenanigans—especially where I'm involved. On the other hand, if this is him trying a different tactic, then… We've gotta stop him before he makes Davy sign anything!"

"I still remember where the shop used to be!" Peter.

"Then we'll check there first," Mike said, bolting for the front door of the Pad. "If he's not there, then we'll check the caverns where he had that memory slab set up for—ohhhh, boy…"

He trailed off, stopping in his tracks as he opened the door. Mr. Sydney was waiting for them outside, only he wasn't alone. Elisa, the museum curator, was with him, and he was twisting her arm behind her back.

"Good evening, Boys," he said. "I managed to find your addresses with that rock festival in Paris. And so I decided to bring your friend from the Manchester Museum along to… help with our discussion of your friend handing over the medallion."

"Well, you're out of luck," Mike said. "The medallion is not here, and neither is our friend. We have no idea where they are; in fact, we were just about to look for them."

"Oh, good," Sydney said, slowly forcing them inside as he advanced further, forcing Elisa along. "Then Miss Elisa and I can help you look."

"Actually, we're better when we're on our own," Peter said.

"No doubt you are," Sydney said. "Unfortunately for you, I must insist."

The three Monkees were now pressed up against the sink, and Mike eyed the switch next to it out of the corner of his eye.

"Unfortunately for you, we've gotta decline," he said, flipping the garbage disposal switch.

The disposal began to spew cutlery again, just as it had done before. Sydney released Elisa to shield himself on instinct.

"Run!" Mike exclaimed, grabbing her hand and heading out the door.

Micky and Peter were right behind them, Micky moving the backless couch in front of Sydney's way just in time for him to trip over it and grant them the headstart they needed.

"This way!" the curator said, running as fast as she could.

The three Monkees struggled to keep up, all the while glancing over their shoulders to see if Sydney was there.

"I think we lost him!" Mike exclaimed.

"Well, that was close!" Peter exclaimed.

"I'm sorry…" Elisa gasped. "I'm so sorry…"

"Hey, it's fine," Mike said.

"Yeah, it's not like you asked for this…" Micky added.

But Elisa cringed.

"Actually…" she said, as they rounded the corner. "Yes, it is."

The three froze in their tracks again as they found themselves surrounded by Sydney's men. And then the horrible truth sunk in.

The museum robbery had been an inside job. And Elisa had just led them into a trap.

* * *

Davy managed to find Melody Malone's Antiques without too much trouble, completely oblivious to the events happening to his bandmates. He smiled upon seeing the interesting welcome mat—instead of "Welcome," it read, "Hello, Sweetie."

There was a woman with curly, blonde hair inside, writing in a blue journal. She closed this journal upon Davy's entry and put it aside on the counter. She studied Davy for a moment, before greeting him with a smile.

"How can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm looking for Professor Song," Davy said, surprised to hear her English accent.

"You've found her," the professor said.

"Oh, good…" Davy said. "I, er… I was wondering what you knew about this…" He held up the medallion, causing her eyebrows to arch. "My grandfather was looking into this a long time ago—it was part of a set: a medallion, a crook, and a flail…"

He proceeded to briefly explain what he knew while handing over his grandfather's notes.

"Can you make any sense of the maps and the ancient writing?"

"I believe I can," Professor Song said. "They tell the location of the three items—the original locations, of course; they're not about to change along with the fact that you've brought the medallion here."

"All I need to know is the location of the Flail of the Forbidden One—and any traps or dangers that they've set up to protect it."

"Ah, well, that would be written up in this bit here," she said. "It clearly says—"

Professor Song was cut off as the door flew open, and Davy's eyes widened upon seeing who it was.

"Cyndia!?" he exclaimed.

"Davy!?" she returned, equally surprised to see him.

"What are you doing here!?" Davy exclaimed. "I thought you were in France with Rico…"

"I was!" she exclaimed. "This weird guy in a Panama hat started bothering us; he wouldn't stop following us! Rico got nervous, and he wanted to send me back to Malibu in case something went wrong. I've tried to get back in touch with him to tell him that weird people have been following me here, too, but… Rico's vanished!"

"Well, forgive me for not being too sympathetic—excuse me, did you say Panama hat!?" Davy yelped.

She nodded.

Davy exhaled.

"Cyndia, I need you to do something very, very important for me."

"What?"

He took the medallion from Professor Song and handed it to Cyndia.

"I need you to give this to Mike."

She winced,

"The boo—"

"Don't say it," Davy pleaded. "Rico calling him that is bad enough. I need you to give that to him while I find these guys and hold them off for a bit. Mike will know what to do." He hesitated. "And… tell him that I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"He'll know."

She blinked, but nodded.

"And be careful," Davy added. "Now get out of here before they spot you." He turned to Professor Song. "Is there a back way?"

"Yes, but—"

Cyndia didn't even stop to listen; she headed out the back way."

"I do wish you hadn't sent that with her," Professor Song sighed.

"Why, what's wrong?"

"Well, from what I've read here in your grandfather's notes, the warnings in hieroglyphs and the Incan writings foretell of dangerous consequences should these fall into the wrong hands."

"You don't believe that, though, do you?" Davy asked.

She looked to him.

"I've seen a lot of things you wouldn't believe. Something like this would be very mild compared to those. You want my expert opinion? The curse is real. Always err on that side of caution."

Unbidden came Mike's insistence that the medallion had been doing something to Davy's head. The English boy now lowered his gaze.

"Now," said Professor Song, stepping into the back room for a few minutes. "A translation of everything relating to the Flail, as you requested. And here are your grandfather's original notes."

"How did you do that so quickly?"

"Spoilers," she merely replied, smiling. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Oh, right—thank you. Is there any way I can…?" He dug into his pocket for money.

"No need for that; I'm certain that you'll be able to return this favor somewhere down the line. Perhaps you can give me some way to contact you?"

Davy nodded, quickly scribbling down the Pad's number.

"If we're not there, you can leave us a message at the Urgent Answering Service," he said.

"Oh, I'll find a way to leave you a message. Don't you worry."

Davy blinked, not quite sure as to what she meant by that, but decided that he had more important things to worry about.

Surprised as he was regarding this turn of developments, it was nothing compared to the surprise he felt upon seeing Elisa after exiting the antique shop.

"Davy," she said, her expression one of worry. "You need to come with me."

"Why, what's wrong?"

"Those thieves who broke into the museum… they brought me here—I think they want that medallion from you."

"Well, I don't have it anymore," he said. "I'm having it sent to my friend Mike."

Elisa cringed.

"I wish you hadn't done that."

Davy shrugged his shoulders in exasperation, this being the second person to tell him as much.

"You need to get that medallion back _right now_," Elisa said. "Where is it?"

"I gave it to Cyndia Crowforest; I used to go out with her—"

"Oh, that's okay, then."

Davy frowned.

"I don't get it. Why is it okay for Cyndia to have it and not Mike?" He frowned as Elisa suddenly looked nervous. "What's going on!? What aren't you telling me!?"

"Davy… I'm really, really sorry—I told Mike and your other two friends the same thing when I…"

"When you what?!" Davy demanded. "What happened to the others!?"

"She sold them out," Professor Song said, stepping outside. "I think it's obvious enough, don't you?"

"I was put up to it—I swear," Elisa said. "I had to sit by and do nothing as the museum was broken into—it was part of the deal. But you four weren't supposed to be involved—I am so sorry…"

"You made a deal with Sydney!?" Davy exclaimed.

"No, not Sydney," Elisa said. "Sydney's only second in command; he and I answer to someone else."

"Who!?"

"You already know him," Elisa said, not meeting his gaze. "Rico Alistair."


	15. Deceptions

Davy could only stare at the curator after hearing the revelation.

"Rico is Sydney's boss?!" he exclaimed. "He was the one who orchestrated the break-in, then?!"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. His disinterest in the Crook of the Forbidden One was meant to be a ruse to divert suspicion from himself. We were actually discussing plans for the robbery when we heard you out in the room. He wanted to draw your attention away from the Crook, so he flung the door open…"

"And knocked Mike out with it," Davy finished, seething. "And you tried to be nice to us so that you'd divert suspicion from yourself."

"Yes," she confessed. "I didn't imagine that you would all try to stop the robbery—I thought you'd do the smart thing and stay out of it. I know you'll find this difficult to believe, but I do regret this."

"Really?" Davy asked, skeptical.

"Yes," she said. "I have been regretting this for some time, but by that time, it was too late, and I couldn't get out of it."

"…If you had the chance to make amends, then… would you?" Professor Song asked.

Davy jumped; he had just about forgotten that she had been standing there.

"Yes," Miss Elisa said. "I would."

Davy looked to her.

"Then I'll give you a chance," he said. "I need to find my friends."

"Sydney would have taken them to Rico by now," she said. "There's a rendezvous point; the intent was to take all of you to Peru once we retrieved the medallion from you."

"Why take us to Peru?" Davy asked, baffled. "He's got the medallion."

"But not your grandfather's notes," she replied. "He would expect you to be the only one to decipher his handwriting and help translate it."

"It's already translated," Davy informed her. "And did he really think I'd help him after everything he's done?"

"No—which is why he's using your friends as leverage."

"Well, you're going to help me get rid of that leverage," Davy said. "You're going to help me save them."

"I can only do so much," Miss Elisa said. "Rico has control over all of us—the most I can do is lead you to where they are and let you know that Rico will do anything for the information you translated."

Davy sighed, thinking over his options.

"I know what I have to do," he said at last. "I just hope they'll forgive me when I find them—especially Mike."

* * *

Mike, in the meantime, was nothing less than on the verge of panic. It wasn't enough that he was worried about Micky and Peter being held captive along with him—because, of course, he was concerned for their safety, and moreso than his own—but he was also worried that with every passing second, Davy was falling prey to the clutches of the medallion. An unpleasant feeling grew more and more in his stomach as he realized that there was nothing he could do while he was being held by Sydney, his hands tied behind his back.

Micky and Peter also had their hands tied, and Peter was trying to untie Micky's hands whenever he thought they weren't being watched; unfortunately, his knot-untying skills hadn't changed at all since their adventure in Mexico, and what was worse was that, with his own hands behind his back, he had to attempt this backwards, without being able to see what he was doing. Needless to say, he wasn't getting very far.

"This isn't going to work, Pete," Micky said. "Hey, Mike, you got any ideas?"

"No," the Texan said, softly. "Nothing we can do except remain tied up where while we lose our Davy to some stranger in his shoes."

"Don't say that!" Peter pleaded.

"I'm just being realistic," Mike said. Getting his hopes up, only to have them dashed to pieces, would be the worst experience. "Davy couldn't resist the medallion when all three of us were with him—what kind of chance would he have on his own, without any of us around to snap him out of it?"

"Sounds like Jones has wised up," Rico said, walking over to them. "But you three don't have to worry—I'll be taking that medallion off of his hands soon. And even if I don't, and he's already well on his way to Peru to get the flail himself, I'll catch up with him soon enough. Either way, I've done him a favor."

"What favor!?" Micky snapped back, as Mike turned his face away, face burning red with guilt and shame.

"Getting him free from you three," Rico said. "You were never good for his image—especially the boor." He looked to Mike and chuckled at his condition. "What's the matter, Boor?"

"Leave him alone!" Peter ordered.

"There isn't really much of an incentive for me to do that," Rico replied. "But I've got more important things to do…" He trailed off, smirking as Cyndia arrived on the scene, the medallion clutched in her hand.

"Uh-oh…" Micky said. "How did she get the medallion?!"

Mike head jerked up, concerned. In the state Davy would've been in, Mike was sure that there was no way Davy would've left the medallion of his own volition—he had not expected that concern for his friends had temporarily snapped Davy from the medallion's hold or that he had allowed himself to give it to Cyndia.

"I got it, just as you asked," the girl said, holding up the ancient trinket, with a smile. "It was just as easy as you said it was."

"How long did it take you?" Rico asked.

"Just about a minute," she said. "I found him a lot sooner than I thought—he was at an antique shop, so I went in to surprise him. When I told him that Mr. Sydney was in town, he handed it over and begged me to give it to…" She looked towards Mike's direction and sneered. "…To the boor."

Mike stared in amazement for a moment before allowing a flicker of a smile to cross his face.

"You amaze me, Tiny," he whispered. "And this time, I'm grateful for it."

The real Davy was not lost. He was still there. He was fighting. And that made all the difference to Mike.

"Davy handed over the medallion to them, though," Micky said, frowning. "That part isn't good."

"That doesn't matter," Mike said. "I told you in Paris—I was about ready to let them have it. No one knows where the third item is; they could be searching for it from now to doomsday. All that matters is that we get our Davy back."

"So, basically… you're saying you don't care if Rico unleashes the Golden Curse or whatever that thing was in the legend?" Peter asked.

"He can do whatever he wants with those trinkets," Mike said. "We're under no obligations to stop him. We're not designated superheroes; we're just musicians. We keep running into so many crazy adventures, it just seems like we're obligated to do something about it."

"And to add to that, there really isn't much we can do, seeing as though we're a little tied up right now," Micky intoned.

Mike was about to reply when Rico suddenly frowned.

"Where's the rest of it?" Rico asked Cyndia. "I thought I told you to get the papers from Jones, as well—the ones his grandfather wrote."

"Some archaeologist had them; I think Davy had tried to get her to look at them," Cyndia said. "I couldn't have gotten those from her without making it look suspicious."

"I didn't care about whether or not you looked suspicious!" Rico said, his voice rising in volume. "It wouldn't have taken much time or brainpower to just grab the papers and run once you had the medallion! Now we're stuck without the information on the Inca temple, and it's your fault! Jones will have realized that you were working for me by now; he won't trust you again! You're useless to me now!"

He suddenly struck Cyndia across the face, causing the other Monkees to flinch involuntarily. She gasped as she was sent reeling back.

"I spend months of planning this, and you ruin it all," Rico hissed. "I'm not even sure why Jones kept trying to date you, now. I know I wouldn't have bothered had I known you were going to louse things up this badly!"

By the look on Cyndia's face, Rico's words had stung her more than the slap. Micky and Peter looked on, stunned, while Mike's expression was absolutely unreadable.

Rico exhaled, not even caring about Cyndia as he pocketed the medallion, furiously pacing.

"What are we supposed to do now, Boss?" Sydney asked.

"Like I said, trickery won't work in getting the papers from Jones now," Rico said. "We'll have to use brute force."

"But we don't know where he is," Sydney pointed out. "We sent Elisa to find him, and we haven't heard from her."

"He couldn't be at that shabby house of his; I have surveillance there that would've alerted me had he returned…" Rico muttered. "He must be seeking shelter in one of his little hideaways around town—he would, knowing that you were here, undoubtedly hunting around for him.

"But we don't know where those hideaways are!" Sydney added.

Rico turned sharply to Cyndia, who trembled.

"I don't know, either," she said. "When we broke up years ago, I didn't really keep track of where he was around town—I don't know where he would go."

Rico cursed in frustration before turning to the other three Monkees.

"Well, then… It looks like we have to ask the ones who would know," he said, looking from Micky to Peter and then to Mike.

"You know, Davy's got a phrase he likes to use that I think I'm gonna quote now," Micky said, in disbelief. "You must be joking!"

"Oh, I think not," Rico said. "I'm sure I can… persuade you to tell me where Jones could be—perhaps in exchange for your freedom?"

"You don't know us very well, do you?" Mike deadpanned.

"We stick together!" Peter said.

"Strange you should say that when 'sticking together' is, clearly, the last thing Jones had in mind," Rico said. "You know he took the medallion with the intent of betraying you—leaving you behind."

"The medallion was messing with his mind," Mike said. "To be quite honest, I'm glad you took it off of his hands."

"If you aren't going to say anything useful, Boor, then at least keep silent," Rico quipped back.

"Will you stop calling him that?!" Micky fumed.

Rico ignored him, snapping his fingers. Mike yelped as two of Sydney's men hauled him up so that he was standing upright. Rico now walked toward him, sneering at him.

"I want to know where Jones is," he said. "And I want you to be the one to tell me. I want Jones to see that his worthless pet has no loyalty to him after all."

"I got nothin' for you," Mike said.

"It seems as though you didn't hear me," Rico hissed, and now he struck Mike across the face, ignoring the angry yells from Micky and Peter, who both found themselves restrained by more of Sydney's flunkies to keep them from interfering.

Mike just glared back at him, silent, prompting Rico's expression to darken further.

"Speak, Boy!" he snarled, rearing hand back for another strike. "Where is Jones?! Tell me, or—"

He never finished, though; a short figure appeared on the scene out of nowhere, his fist colliding with Rico's face. The devious schemer was floored from the hit, blinking as he beheld the angry musician glaring down at him, and, for the first time, actually felt intimidated—and for good reason. No one standing there—not even his bandmates—had ever seen him so angry before.

"He's right here," Davy hissed. "And you're going to wish that he wasn't."


	16. Salesman

Rico was still recovering from Davy's punch, but Sydney's men were quick to grab Davy by the arms to restrain him. A third thug raised a fist, and though the other Monkees struggled to break free from their own captors to try to help him, Davy just smirked.

"Call off your flunky's flunkies," he said. "I don't think you'll want them to hurt me since I'm the only one in the world who knows what you want to know."

Rico raised a hand, and the thug stopped in mid-swing.

"What are you talking about, Jones?"

"You know what I'm talking about—you were snarling at Cyndia for forgetting it just a few minutes ago. Once I figured out that you'd tricked me into giving her the medallion, I knew I had to make sure that you didn't get my grandfather's notes."

"I won't ask you how you found out," Rico said, giving Elisa a dark look. "But you do realize that I can turn this city upside-down to get those notes, don't you?"

"I know. That's why I had them shredded, so that you would never get them. And then had the confetti set on fire, just to make sure it was complete."

That was only a partial bluff; Davy hadn't destroyed the notes—he wasn't about to have actually done that to his grandfather's research; he had given them to Professor Song, who insisted that she would make sure that they "wouldn't be found for at least 100 years—or, at least, until they were needed by their rightful owner."

Rico, however, thought that Davy was serious.

"You destroyed the notes?!" he asked, looking horrified. "The one thing that had a guide on how to get through the Inca temple—a complete list of all the traps and dead-ends—and you destroyed it?!"

"Of course," Davy said. "Now you've got the medallion, but it's useless, isn't it? Pity. You may as well let my friends go now."

"I don't have an incentive to let them go," Rico snarled.

"Oh, but you do," Davy said. "I destroyed the notes… but not before I memorized everything you need to know to get the Flail of the Forbidden One and make it out alive."

Rico stood up, not taking his eyes off of Davy.

"How do I know that you're telling the truth?"

"The temple is located near Macchu Picchu, nestled deep in the hills and entirely in the hill, but hidden because the entrance is behind a waterfall. Its coordinates are 13 degrees south latitude and 72 degrees west longitude." Davy paused, grinning. "And that's all you're going to get until we negotiate."

The mastermind now looked to Davy's captors and nodded, and they released him.

"What do you want?" Rico asked. "A share of gold?"

"What I want more than anything else is for you to let my friends go and never go near them again," Davy said. He hesitated, knowing that he would receive a lot of opposition to what he was about to suggest. "You agree to that, and I'll go with you and guide you to the Flail, no questions asked."

"No!" Micky and Peter both chorused, just as he predicted.

"Davy…" Mike said, shaking his head. "Tiny, don't do it!"

Davy gave Mike a sad smile as he looked to him.

"It's the only way I can make it up to you," he said, softly. "I've put you all through so much these last few days—and you especially—because of the things I've said and done. Now I can make it better again."

"Not like this!" Mike cried, on the verge of panic. Restrained by Sydney's thugs, there was nothing he could do to stop Davy from going through with whatever he had planned, and he knew it. "Davy, don't you understand?! You go with him, and you won't come back—one way or another, we'll never see you again!"

"Come on, Mike; you know as well as I do that good tambourine players are a dime a dozen."

"But a friend is irreplaceable!" Peter retorted. "Davy, please don't do it!"

"We'll find some other way out of it—we always do!" Micky added.

Davy looked from them to Mike, who was looking at him with a pleading look on his face that the English boy had never seen before.

"Not now," the Texan pleaded. "Not like this… Davy, please…"

"Shut him up," Rico ordered, not wanting Mike to sway Davy's mind now that he knew Davy had the information he so desperately wanted. "Shut him up _now_; I don't want to hear another word from him!"

Mike continued to look back at Davy even as the handkerchief was placed over his mouth.

"And if either of you say another word, you'll be muzzled just like him," Rico warned Micky and Peter. He looked back to Davy. "Don't listen to that boor, Davy. You know as well as I do that someone as backward as him couldn't appreciate what I'm… what we're capable of accomplishing together."

"I don't want to accomplish anything," Davy said, frowning. "I just want my friends to be safe."

"Really?" Rico said. He drew the medallion from his pocket. "You really mean to tell me that you don't want a share of the gold?"

Mike's heart skipped a beat as that same look came over Davy's face as he looked at the medallion. He let out a muffled plea, but his words were unintelligible.

The words worked, even if they couldn't be discerned. Davy looked back at Mike and snapped out of it.

"No. No, I don't."

"Ah. Well, then…" Rico put the medallion back into his pocket, though Davy did follow the artifact with his gaze.

"Let them go," the boy said. "Please. I give you my word—"

"After everything I've done, I would be an idiot to take you for your word," Rico said. "You know that as well as I do. You lead me to the Flail of the Forbidden One, and then I'll let your friends go."

"And how do I know I can trust you—especially since all the criminal stuff has been from you?" Davy countered. "You know _that_ as well as I do."

Rico arched an eyebrow.

"I suppose you have a point," he said. "Very well, Jones."

He looked to the thugs holding Micky and Peter and nodded. Both boys yelped as they were released, falling to the ground. The ropes tying them were soon released.

"These two can leave. They're free. I have no need for them to stick around, and by the time they go to the police, we'll have already been well into our expedition."

Davy looked stunned by this gesture, but then looked to Mike, who was still restrained and gagged.

"But, what about—?"

"Come now, Jones; you know I need some amount of an insurance policy. Yes, I have Miss Crowforest, but I'm sure she isn't as valuable as the boor. A pet makes the best insurance policy of all."

Davy drew his fist back for another strike, but he soon found his arm restrained by Sydney's men again.

"See what I mean?" Rico smirked. "It looks like there's nothing that he wouldn't do for you."

"That's because there's nothing that he wouldn't do for me," Davy countered.

He looked to Mike, who was still silently pleading with him not to go through with it. But Davy's look softened as he saw how Mike was hurting.

_I'm so sorry, Mike. I really am. I know this is going to hurt you, but I remember what happened when Mr. Zero tried to steal our memories. You were willing to sacrifice your soul for us. This is the least I can do. But maybe everything will turn out okay after all. I'm just glad Micky and Peter will be safe_.

"I think we've reached an adequate compromise, haven't we?" Rico asked. "If you don't think so, we can go back to where we were before, with me holding all three of your friends as insurance."

"No," Davy said, quickly. "I… I'll have to settle for this."

"Yes, you do," Rico said. "I'll tell you exactly how it's going to be. You'll come with me into the temple, and Nishwash here—"

"_Nffmthhh_!" Mike managed to snarl back, trying to correct him, but failing through the gag.

"—Will stay aboard my private jet with Miss Crowforest and Miss Elisa looking after him," Rico continued, unfazed. "Only after you guide me in and out of the temple will I let the both of you go."

"How do I know that I can trust you?"

"You don't," he said, simply. "In fact, you ought to convince those two to leave before I change my mind."

"Guys…" Davy said to Micky and Peter. "Please go. Mike and I will be okay; we'll find our way back to you. Please, just… go before something else happens."

"No way!" Micky said. "It's all for one, and one for all—"

"_Mmmphhhyy_!" Mike tried to yell, glaring at the brunet.

"They're right, Mick," Peter said, as he placed a hand on Micky's shoulder. "We should go. We can't do anything for them if we're tied up again."

"That's right; run for help," Rico said. "It's all you can do—and, like I said, we'll be long gone."

Micky stammered in protest as Peter practically dragged him away and out of sight. Davy let out a quiet sigh of relief. Now, he just had to make sure that Mike got through this, even if he didn't.

He was snapped out of his thoughts with a yelp as Sydney's thugs started shoving him towards Rico's private jet.

"Have him sit with me," Rico ordered, with a smirk. "You can throw the boor into the cargo hold."

Davy's angry protests fell on deaf ears as they forced him aboard, and Mike shouldn't speak for himself. He just lowered his head in despair. It didn't matter if he was there with Davy; he just knew that Rico wouldn't let the two of them go.

Still tied up, the thugs holding Mike threw him unceremoniously into the hold and closed it after making sure once again that the ropes around him were tight. They closed the hold's door after they exited and re-boarded from the main door.

Mike didn't even try to struggle; the fight was gone from him. He didn't even know how much time he had left with Davy. After years of music and adventures, was this how it was going to end? Spending their last hours as captives of a spoiled, greedy brat? Or was that terrible medallion going to take ahold of Davy once again and take him in another way altogether?

Mike had never been too much of an optimist; he had always tried to approach things as realistically as possible. And he didn't see any possible way out of this now; even their usual standby of a tactical retreat wouldn't work with the both of them restrained.

He shut his eyes. If there was any consolation at all, it was that Micky and Peter were safe. That counted for something, at any rate.

* * *

Outside the jet, one of the remaining friends looked on in despair.

"See!?" Micky ranted, as he and Peter watched from as close as they dared. Seeing Mike so beaten and not even fighting back had been absolutely heartbreaking for them to see, and Micky's fury at Rico was not about to remain hidden. "You had us cut and run and leave them to that?! We'll never see them again!"

"Oh, yes we will," Peter said, smiling.

"Huh?" Micky asked, blinking.

"Davy and Mike wanted us to leave, and we did," the blond said. "They never said we couldn't come back and stow away!"

Micky stared at Peter.

"Pete, I can't believe I'm saying this," he said, placing a hand on the blond's shoulder. "But I like the way you think."


	17. Goldfinger

Micky and Peter waited until the flunky was well out of sight before heading to the back of the jet and sneaking into the cargo hold.

"Hey, Mike!" the brunet said, softly.

Mike's head jerked in the direction of Micky's voice, his eyes wide. Micky ignored the Texan's protests as he sealed the hold's door close again; Peter attempted to try to untie Mike, but wasn't faring any better than the last time he'd tried to untie knots. Micky soon took over and worked on the knots as Peter removed the handkerchief from Mike's mouth.

"What do you two think you're doing?!" Mike hissed. "Davy went through so much to get you two safe!"

"Yeah, but we figured our chances were better together," the brunet said, and he grinned as the knots finally came loose. "There, you're free!"

"Well, you two are getting outta here right now," Mike insisted. "There's no way I'm letting you go to Peru—"

He was cut off as the plane started moving; in no time at all, it picked up speed and took off.

"You were saying?" Micky asked.

Mike gave him a glare as Peter quickly got his hands on some blankets and ponchos to help protect them from the cold that was making things rapidly uncomfortable as they ascended into the sky.

"We need to come up with a plan," the blond said. "For Davy's sake. I agree—Rico isn't going to let him leave. He knows too much."

"Which means he's got even worse planned for you, Mike," Micky added.

"I don't care what he does to me; he can throw me off the plane—parachute or no parachute—and I could care less as long as I knew that you three were okay."

"Well, we'd like to know you're okay, too," Peter said, sincerely. "So I hope you have a plan to get Davy out of there safely."

"I don't have a plan other than to have the three of us jump the guy Rico sends in here to guard me when we land. After that, we follow Davy at a distance, making sure we do exactly what he does to avoid the traps, and then make our move once we get the right moment to jump in and rescue him."

"Sounds like a plan," Micky said, nodding in agreement. "Then we run around until we lose Rico, and then Davy leads us all out while they wander around in there."

"We're going to leave them in there? Trapped?" Peter asked.

"Eh, we'll send some official rescue team in there," Micky said, with a wave of his hand. "I don't trust that Rico as far as I can throw him; no way I'm going to lead him around. And a little time in that dungeon might get him to be a little nicer, right?"

The three exchanged glances.

"…_Nah_!" they said, in unison.

They lapsed into silence after that. Mike burrowed into the blankets Peter had given him, hoping against all hope that his plan would, somehow, work.

* * *

When the plane finally did land, the three of them laid in wait for the guard. It wasn't long before the cargo hold opened and one of the flunkies looked inside. But the boys were ready.

Micky and Peter had hidden behind some empty storage crates (obviously, Rico was planning to raid every last piece of treasure from the temple) while Mike had lain back down on the ground with his arms behind his back, facing the hatch door.

The unsuspecting flunky smirked as he climbed up inside and saw Mike lying there; he decided that if he was stuck guarding him, he could at least have some fun taunting him while he waited.

"Your little buddy was asking about you. I think he wanted to see you. The boss wouldn't let him. They're on their way into the temple now," he said. "I don't know if you'll ever see your pal again, though. Oh, don't look at me like that; once he gets a share of the gold, he won't care about you. The boss told me that if Jones doesn't come back here to pick you up in five hours, I'm allowed to throw you to the anacondas. You won't even be missed—not when he'll find something far more valuable."

"He'll come back," Mike said.

"No, he won't."

"I know he'll come back. But I just don't feel like waiting!"

He leaped up from the floor as Micky and Peter leaped out from behind their crates. The stunned flunky had no chance against the three of them; within moments, he was tied up with the same ropes and handkerchief that had previously bound and gagged Mike.

"Okay, we gotta split," Mike said. "They're already in there; we need to be able to hear how they get past those traps!"

They didn't need telling twice; one by one, they dashed through the waterfall that obscured the temple entrance. Micky, who had gotten his hands on a flashlight from seemingly nowhere, was able to deduce the direction Davy had gone with Rico's team.

"They went this way," he said. "Judging by the looks of this, everyone except that guy went with them. We're gonna be seriously outnumbered."

"Then we'll have to depend on the element of surprise," Mike said, taking the flashlight from the brunet as he led the way. He soon found out that he didn't need the flashlight; mounted torches were on the walls.

"I wonder who lit these?" Peter asked.

"Does it matter?" Micky asked.

"Yeah, it kinda does, actually," Peter said, shivering. "It would mean that someone walks through this temple on a regular basis. Why else would these torches be lit, instead of being burned out?"

Mike hesitated for just a moment before resuming his pace. Peter had a point. In fact, Mike couldn't help but notice how clean the walls and statues standing in the corridor looked, as opposed to being covered with dirt and dust.

"But there aren't any footprints other than Davy and Rico's team," Micky said, pointing at the ground.

A feeling of unease grew in Mike's gut.

"Let's just find Davy and get him outta here," he said, quickening his pace.

It didn't take them long until they could hear voices up ahead; soon, they had caught up Davy and the others.

"…There's a trap right around here," Davy was saying. "There are floor panels up ahead all the way to the flail that trigger mechanical creatures, and then a small gap we need to jump over every few yards. I guess when someone activates the creatures, they run in fright and… Well, they notice the gaps too late and fall."

"Which panels trigger the creatures?" Rico asked.

"You have to avoid ones that have spiders carved on them," Davy said. "But it's a very small carving; you have to be very, very careful when you walk. The light's dim, too; that won't help us…"

Rico scoffed.

"I almost wish that we _had_ brought the boor along," he said. "We could've sent him ahead to find the safe way."

"Don't talk about Mike like that!" Davy snapped.

"Oh, come on, Jones. We're far away from him; you can drop the act."

"Act?!" Davy repeated.

"Do you mean to tell me that you haven't realized how much of a success you'd be if you flew solo? I was there at the rock festival, Jones. They cheered the loudest for you. So why do you stay with him and those other two?"

"Don't you have any friends?" Davy wondered.

"Don't need them—success comes best when you're on your own."

"And yet here you are, with an entire team of flunkies?"

"Who will all be compensated for their services—that includes you. It is an employment. So, I ask you again—why do you stay with the boor?"

"If you had friends, you wouldn't ask me that," Davy said. "Mike has been the one who looked after me ever since I first arrived in America. He was a poor, struggling musician, but managed to take me under his wing. I owe him a lot."

"Well, then, despite being backwards, he is shrewd, at any rate…"

"Just what do you mean by that?!"

"I mean that I see your precious pet for what he really is," Rico said. "One thing you need to know, Jones, is that no one acts without self-interest. You just said that he was a struggling musician. And now he performed with you at an international rock festival. He would never have gotten there without you; he knew you were his ticket to fame. All he had to do was make a little investment—and now he's cashed in."

"I'll bet that's it," Cyndia said. "That must be why he chased me off every time I tried to make up with Davy; he didn't want me distracting Davy from the music that was his key to success."

Mike stopped in his tracks.

_No. No, that's not it; that was never it!_ he mentally screamed.

Peter placed a hand on Mike's shoulder as Micky cursed under his breath, gently pushing the Texan along.

"Well," Davy said. "It's really a shame that you consider everyone else to be as selfish as you."

"Really, Jones? _Really_? Are you sure you aren't just fooling yourself into believing that he's an altruist?"

Davy looked away for a moment, a faraway look coming to his eyes as various memories zipped through his mind. But one remained the clearest of all—Mike, being forced to kneel before the Devil himself as he prepared to sign his soul over to ensure Davy, Micky, and Peter's freedom.

"I'm sure."

Mike shut his eyes in relief for a moment.

Rico merely scoffed.

"Perhaps you'll be proven wrong soon enough, Jones."

"What is he doing?!" Micky hissed under his breath. "_Why_ is he so obsessed with turning Davy against you?"

"You think he's jealous?" Peter wondered aloud.

"Jealous of what? He already said he doesn't need friends."

"Could be just a cover-up. Maybe he's lonely deep down and he thinks this is the best way to deal with it."

"Well, isn't that dumb?" Micky muttered, a little too loudly.

"_Shh_!"

Mike pulled the both of them into the shadows of a statue just as Miss Elisa, who was bringing up the rear, turned around. Mike saw her eyes widen, and he cringed.

They had been spotted.

"What is it?" Sydney asked, seeing that she had turned around.

"It's nothing," she said. "I thought I saw a vampire bat; I couldn't be sure. It doesn't matter; they won't attack us while were able to shoo them away…"

The three hidden Monkees quietly exhaled.

"Why didn't she point us out?" Micky wondered, quietly.

"Hey, maybe she's really on the level and trying to make it up to us after all?" Peter whispered.

"Maybe," Mike whispered back. "But I still don't want to have to count on trusting her, seeing what she put us through."

They fell silent and resumed following Davy and the others at a distance, carefully following the footsteps they had left on the floor panels and jumping over the gaps. There was a tense moment when Micky nearly lost his footing upon landing and almost fell in, but Mike and Peter managed to avert the crisis by grabbing his arms before he fell. It did shake Micky up, though, to the point that, for the remainder of the trek, he had to quietly mutter to himself not to panic.

A sudden shout from Rico up ahead made them all jump; they hurried forward, fearing that a trap had been sprung, but it soon became clear that it had been a shout of joy. Creeping closer, the other Monkees could see the golden Flail of the Forbidden One glinting in the firelight atop a pedestal. A small set of stone steps led up to the raised platform holding the artifact.

"Are there any more traps, Jones?"

"The entire line of floor panels in the row right in front of the steps," Davy replied. "Now you've got what you've came here for; can't you let me and Mike go?"

"Not yet," Rico said. He snapped his fingers and indicated for one of the flunkies to retrieve the flail. He smirked as the item was retrieved without any trouble and placed in his left hand.

Sydney now pulled the crook out of his pocket and gave it to Rico's right hand. Rico's eyes now turned to the medallion around his neck. Slowly, it started glowing, which caused the crook and flail to glow, as well. A grin spread across his face.

"Gentlemen—and ladies—you are now staring at the richest man on the face of the Earth!"

"Yes, lovely," Davy said, with a wave of his hand. "Now if you'll just…"

To Mike's horror, the same look from earlier came over Davy's face as he beheld the glowing items.

"I know what you're thinking, Jones. They could've been yours. It's not too late to join me. Look…"

He touched the glowing crook and flail to one of the statues in the room. From the point of contact, an encasing of gold quickly spread across the statue until it was covered.

"Your reward. But I can give you so much more. Join me, Jones. I need someone like you to help me manage all of this gold—for an impressive salary, of course." He smirked again. "I would even be convinced to let you borrow these once in a while; I mean, they _are_ your grandfather's—I do respect that."

He transferred the crook to hold in his left hand along with the flail and held out his hand to Davy.

"What do you say?"

Davy did not take his eyes off of the medallion as he slowly raised his hand to meet Rico's. They had almost sealed the deal when a panicked cry issued from the back of the chamber.

"Tiny, NO!"

It had startled Davy enough to back away from Rico, but it had startled Rico enough to stumble back…

…Onto the one of the trap-triggering tiles.

A large, mechanical spider, glittering with gold, dropped from the ceiling. Davy let out a cry and ran, the thing just barely missing him.

Rico scrambled backwards even more to avoid the thing as it began to move erratically around the chamber. There was a creaking sound, and Mike, Micky, and Peter looked up in time to see a golden gate descending upon them.

"_Run_!" Davy yelled.

He had meant for them to run _out_ of the room, of course, but Mike ran _in_—and Micky and Peter followed loyally as the gate crashed down behind them, trapping them.

"Get them!" Rico yelled, glaring at Mike in utter hatred. "Get them, _now_!"

"No!"

Davy dodged flailing golden spider legs to gift Rico another punch on the jaw. One of Sydney's thugs hoisted the little musician up by his shirt collar, causing him to gasp for breath.

Mike swore loudly and ran at the thug with Micky and Peter behind him; their path was soon blocked by Sydney himself, as well as Sydney's other men, who had formed a human barrier in front of them. Micky suddenly yelped and pointed behind Sydney, but the big man merely scoffed.

"You think I'm dumb enough to fall for tha—"

He was cut off as one of the spider's legs knocked him clean off of his feet, causing him to crash into his flunkies via the domino effect.

"You shoulda listened…" Micky said, as Mike leaped over the fallen thief.

Micky moved to follow, but as he jumped, Sydney grabbed him by the ankle; with a yelp, Micky fell flat onto his face. The stone floor knocked him out cold.

"Micky!" Peter yelled. He rushed forward to help, but was sent flying backwards by one of the errant spider's legs and hit the wall, dazed.

Mike was already in mid-tackle as this transpired; gravity took over the rest as he collided with the creep holding Davy. The man released Davy as they all hit the ground.

Davy's landing had been especially rough; the gold-covered statue had given a glancing blow to the boy's head. Desperate, he reached out for his friends as his world went dark.

* * *

"Davy?"

"Davy, can you hear us?"

"Come on, Tiny…"

Relief washed over Davy as the three most important voices were all accounted for as he awakened. He opened his eyes, blinking as the faces of his bandmates came back into focus. A quick look around the room revealed that they were all surrounded by Rico and Sydney's flunkies. The mechanical spider was broken-down in a corner of the room.

"What happened?" he mumbled.

"I think we're all prisoners," Micky said. "I'm not sure; I was out cold for the most of it…"

"So was I. Mike arranged a truce so that they wouldn't hurt us," Peter added. "They'll let us all go once you lead us all out of here."

"You two weren't even supposed to be here…" Davy said, rubbing the sore spot on his head.

"I told 'em the same thing," Mike said. "They didn't listen."

Davy blinked, realizing that something was different.

"Mike, where's your hat?"

Mike responded by lifting his right hand; the hat was nestled on top of his fingers.

"Got it right here," he said, smiling. "Now, if you can recover those memory banks of yours, we can hope there's an alternate way out of this room—and out of the temple."

"Yeah, there is," Davy said. He blinked as Mike offered his left hand to help him up, but he shrugged it off and accepted his help. "You're sure they'll let us go once we get them out?"

Rico was looking too smug and amused for Davy's liking.

"Oh, I'll let you go," Rico said, dismissively. "But why don't you ask your boor why he isn't using his dominant hand—and hiding it in that raggedy hat of his?"

"Come to think of it… what's wrong with your hand, Mike?" Peter asked, looking at it.

"Are you hurt?" Davy asked.

"No. No, I'm… not hurt. I'm just…"

"Just… what?" Micky prompted.

Mike shut his eyes.

"Guys, I'm… I'm really, really sorry, but…"

He removed the woolhat, and the jaws of his bandmates fell open in horror. The slightly crooked finger on his right hand was encased in gold. Davy didn't even hear Rico's sickening laughter; he was staring at the gold.

"I've been cursed," Mike finished. "He used the crook and flail on my fingernail while I was fighting with that guy."

"But if it's just your fingernail that got cursed, then why is the whole thing…?" Davy's voice trailed off as he saw that the gold encasing was slowly spreading across the rest of Mike's hand.

"The curse works differently on living things," Mike said. "Judging by the way it's spreading, I've got about an hour left."

Davy could barely grasp what Mike was saying; he was too distracted by the unshakeable fact that his best friend was suffering this fate only because he hadn't listened to him earlier.


	18. Could've Fell Through the Floor

"An hour…?" Micky repeated, staring at Mike's hand in horror. "No… there… there has to be a way to reverse it!"

"That's right!" Peter agreed. "I mean, whoever came up with this spell had to foresee that accidents might happen—there would have to be a counter-spell or an antidote or something like that!"

But Davy gently took Mike's hand in both of his, staring at the golden finger that was now signifying the beginning of the end.

"There isn't," he said, through a sob.

Mike shut his eyes for a moment, fully taking in those words, but eventually nodded and looked back to Davy.

"I figured there wouldn't be," he said. "It's just the sort of thing you'd expect from a curse like this—a guy gets too greedy, Midases something—or someone—he shouldn't have… That's the real curse."

"That's not fair!" Micky exclaimed.

"Yeah-we didn't get consumed with greed and do that to you!" Peter agreed.

"I as good as did it to him," Davy said, trembling. "If only I'd listened to him… Mike, I'm so sorry…"

"Hey…" the Texan said, gripping Davy's shoulder with his still-normal left hand. "I don't blame you, Tiny. There was something messing with your mind, and you were strong enough to fight it off for as long as you could. But I don't think it's done with you, yet. And I need you to promise me that you'll keep fighting it after I… can't help you out anymore. Can you do that for me?"

Davy looked into Mike's eyes as he nodded; the brown eyes revealed that the Texan was resigned to his fate. But hidden deep within them was the sadness and fear that Mike was so desperately trying to hide.

Davy couldn't stand it; Mike was forcing himself to be stoic for their sake. This wasn't the time… They were losing him… They were going to lose him… Less than an hour, and he was forcing himself to be strong?

"Mike…"

His voice cracked, and he couldn't say the words. Thankfully, Peter said the words that needed to be said.

"Mike, please…" the blond said. "You're scared. I know you're scared—who wouldn't be? But you don't have to hide it. I mean…" He cringed. "If there really is no way to reverse it, the least we could do is… Well… If there's anything we can do to make it easier for you?"

"Get outta here," Mike pleaded. "I'll follow as long as I can."

"Mike," Micky said. "That's not what he meant."

Mike looked from each of their faces—first Micky, then Peter, and then to the guilt-ridden Davy. His friends… his best friends…

What was it going to be like when it was over? Would he just fall asleep? Or would he still be aware… still able to hear them?

No matter what, he would no longer be able to be a part of the lives of the three people who meant the most to him. This was just like when he had been ready to sacrifice himself to Mr. Zero for them. The only difference was that the Zero incident had been of his own free will. This golden curse had been out of his control.

He blinked, and a tear slipped past his defenses.

"…I don't want to go…"

He pulled his friends close into a desperate hug, cherishing the sensation of being able to physically feel them, knowing that the gold would take that from him, first. The emotions crashed down upon him, and he let out a quiet sob.

"We don't want you to go," Davy said, tears falling from his face.

"Oh, he doesn't have to _go_, Jones," Rico said, the smirk practically audible in his voice. "You'll have a nice memento of the occasion."

"Why don't you just shut up?!" Micky shot back. "You're the reason he's in this mess right now!"

"Of course I'm the reason," Rico said. "You know, I'd say I actually did the boor a favor. He'll leave something behind that'll be far more valuable than anything he could have left otherwise."

It took a lot for Peter to get angry, but Rico had pushed his buttons.

"How dare you…?" he fumed. "How _dare_ you?!"

Davy released Mike from his embrace for the sole purpose of turning to glare at Rico with his tear-filled eyes.

"It's true, isn't it?" Rico asked, smirking at Peter. "Why, when he's finished, even I might be willing to take him off your hands—buy him off of you, I mean. I'd pay you a fair price, of course. He could make a nice addition for my art gallery… No, no; on second thoughts, he's still just a bit too backward for that. Oh, I've got it! World's ugliest paperweight—"

Davy lost it as Rico continued on, and he tackled him to the ground. Davy's fists were flying before anyone even knew what was happening. The crook and flail in Rico's hands started glowing, as did the medallion around his neck.

"NO!" Mike cried, his eyes wide in horror.

"Rico, you can't!" Miss Elisa screamed at him. "He's the only one who knows the way out!"

Rico's eyes widened in realization, and he cursed; he had already swung his arms at Davy.

But Mike had been faster; he was not about to let his younger friend suffer the same fate as him, and Micky and Peter weren't about to lose another friend, either. Together, the other Monkees pulled the still-struggling Davy away, and the glowing artifacts just missed him by an inch.

Mike said nothing, but hugged his friend close until he calmed down somewhat.

The glowing crook and flail connected in midair, glowing with a sharp light and emitting sparks of gold. The sparks were, apparently, painful, because Rico dropped the glowing items almost instantly. He cursed again, picking them up, but the tips of the crook and flail hit the ground for a split second.

A bright light now emitted from the floor, and everyone stared in horror as an encasing of gold began to spread from around the point of contact.

"Why is it doing that?" Cyndia asked, frightened. "What's happening?"

"He's turning the entire temple into gold!" Micky yelped. He gulped as the statues coming into contact with the spreading gold became encased, too. "…And, apparently, everything in it, too!"

"What about foreign objects?! What about us?" Sydney bellowed.

Not waiting for a verbal answer, he shoved one of his lackeys onto the transformed part of the floor. The man yelped, and was encased within seconds, frozen in gold.

"How come the Midas-ing was instant for him?" Micky wondered, as he and the others scrambled backwards.

"Because the gold curse is working on the temple—anything that gets in the way is collateral damage," Davy said.

"Never mind that! Run!" Mike ordered.

"But where?!" Peter cried, looking at the gate of gold blocking the way they had come. "We're trapped!"

"No, we're not! According to Grandfather's notes, there's another emergency passageway in this room!" Davy exclaimed, placing his hands on one of the panels on the wall. "Right… here!"

A narrow opening was revealed as the panel slid to the side.

"Get going!" Mike said, the spreading gold getting too close for comfort.

Rico practically shoved them aside before crawling into the passageway. Cyndia and Elisa were right behind him.

Mike ushered the other Monkees through before following, as well, trying very hard not to notice the gold slowly spreading from his crooked finger to his other fingers and the upper part of his right hand, working its way down. But the _clink-clink-clink_ of his golden fingers on the stone floor was all too audible as he crawled, incessantly reminding him and the others of his ultimate fate.

A series of yells behind him made him jump; Sydney had pushed the rest of his gang aside to try to save himself, but the heavyset man couldn't even get his shoulders into the narrow passageway. Mike turned back to watch for a moment; the other yells were quickly cut off, and soon Sydney was turned into a golden statue.

The gold encasing continued on, down into the passageway.

"It's not stopping!" Mike yelled. "Keep going!"

He crawled faster, relieved that his comrades were ahead of him, at least. The desperation to escape partly made it difficult to focus on how cold and numb his entire right hand was. But now, he could no longer bend his fingers or his wrist, and the gold began to slowly spread down his arm as they emerged from the passageway.

"It's getting worse!" Peter cried, as he saw Mike's arm. "You said it was going to be an hour, but it looks like it'll be less than that!"

"Maybe the curse consuming the temple is powering it—making it go faster," Micky said.

"Will you stop standing around like a bunch of fools?!" Rico snarled. He turned to Davy with a glare. "I don't have time for this—tell me the way out! The gold will be reaching us any moment now!"

"I'm not looking for the way out," Davy said, looking down the two directions of the corridor. "I'm trying to remember in which direction the chamber where the medallion, crook, and flail go—the place where the medallion can be destroyed."

"Just like the lieutenant said!" Micky said, his eyes going wide.

"You think that might save Mike?" Peter asked, eagerly.

"Let's hope so," Davy said. "It's this way—come on!"

The Texan blinked, hardly daring to believe it as they headed down the corridor. He wanted to believe that he had a chance to get out of this, but he knew that it was a long shot—there would be more than just disappointment if Davy's idea ended up failing.

"You guys realize you probably won't have time to escape, right?" Mike asked.

"If Davy's right, we won't have to," Micky said. "Breaking the medallion should reverse the curse."

"Yeah, it makes sense," Peter agreed.

"And if he's wrong?" Mike asked.

"…Then we'll be together," Davy said, quietly.

"This is madness, Jones!" Rico snarled. "I am not letting you play games with my life!" Lead us out of here!"

"This is all your fault!" Davy snapped back. "You were the one playing around with Mike's life—you did this to him!"

"Will you stop arguing?!" Cyndia shrieked. "Davy, please! You're worth more than him! I'm worth more than him! You can lead us out of here—please do it!"

"I told you, we're going to the chamber to try to break the curse!"

"That's it!" Rico snarled. "I don't need you and your impossible plan getting us all turned into statues! I'm getting out of here on my own!"

He broke into a run as the gold encasing started seeping out from the passageway and started covering the walls and floor of the corridor they were in. Elisa and Cyndia took one look at it and followed Rico.

"He's got the medallion!" Peter cried. "We can't break the curse without breaking it!"

Davy quickly led them in pursuit, but suddenly froze in his tracks as he heard a loud skittering sound from up ahead.

"It's one of those mechanical golden spiders!" he yelled. "Rico must've triggered it!"

The thing suddenly dropped from the ceiling; the boys all dove to the side, desperately trying to avoid the flailing legs.

"Keep going!" Mike yelled, punching at a spider leg with his golden hand. He created a minor dent in it, and the mechanical spider responded by catching him in the gut with a leg, knocking the wind out of him.

"Mike!" Davy cried.

"I'm alright…!" the Texan wheezed. "Well, as alright as I can be…"

Micky and Peter pulled Mike away from the mechanical spider. Davy ran back to them, helping them. The spider then turned towards them, its golden chelicerae gnashing.

"Guys…" Micky said, swallowing hard. "That thing _is_ mechanical… isn't it? Because it's really looking like it's alive."

"But how's that even possible?" Peter asked.

"I'd really rather not stick around and find out," Mike wheezed. "_Go_!"

"We have to be careful, though!" Davy said, as he, Micky, and Peter helped Mike along. "There's a pitfall trap up ahead; Rico might have triggered it already!"

"Of course he might have!" Micky fumed, looking back as the spider gave chase. "Because that idiot would have to make things even more difficult for us!"

"Look out!" Peter yelped.

Sure enough, a vast, empty space lay ahead. The quartet slowed down, stopping at the edge of the pit. Visible in the firelight were the unconscious forms of Rico, Cyndia, and Elisa, out cold from the sudden fall to the stone floor about ten feet down. Behind them, the spider lumbered over to them, its eight giant legs blocking any way to double back.

There was nothing else they could do but hold onto each other. Flailing golden spider legs sent them flying into the pit, still holding on as they, too, were knocked out cold on the stone floor as, yards behind them, the golden curse continued to spread.


	19. No Time

_Notes: In honor of Davy, an extra update this week. The final chapter will be posted this Sunday._

* * *

Davy wasn't sure for how long he was out, but he knew that things were very, very bad when he awoke to Micky's frantic pleas and rapid shaking of his shoulders.

"I'm awake, Micky—I'm awake!" he exclaimed. As the recollection of where he was and what had happened returned to him, his eyes shot open. "Mike! Where's—?"

"Easy, Tiny…" Mike said.

Davy turned to face the sound of his voice, and a cry left his lips. Mike's entire right arm, right leg, and right side had been encased in gold. Mike's left leg, which had been touching his right foot on account of the fall, had also started getting encased; Peter was helping untangle Mike's still-flesh-and-blood left leg from his golden right, and then helping him stand, as the Texan no longer had any leverage on his right side.

Mike was stuck in a most ungainly position; his right leg was in the position of taking a step forward, and his right arm was extending from his side. He was still balanced, but could only move by hopping on his left leg, and he knew that would only last until that became completely encased—which, judging by how his left leg was already being encased up to his shin, wouldn't be very far off.

"How long we were out?" Davy asked, horrified.

"Long enough," Micky said. "And it's getting worse—the spider split because the curse is…" He trailed off, pointing at the wall of the pit. Slowly, the gold encasing was trickling down the wall as it entered the room.

"There's no way out!" Cyndia screamed. "We're all gonna get encased down here!"

"Jones, there'd better be a way out!" Rico snarled at him.

"There isn't; the only way out of this pit is for someone up there to pull them out. You're supposed to know about it so you don't fall in the first place!" Davy hissed. "But you ran off like an idiot!"

"I was not about to let myself get caught by that curse on account of your boor!" Rico shot back.

"Well, now we're all going to get caught by the curse!" Elisa said, shutting her eyes as she leaned against the opposite wall. "David, I really am very, very sorry. I meant it when I said that you and your friends weren't supposed to be a part of this. I tried to stop Rico from cursing your friend—I really did."

"I believe it," Davy sighed, rubbing the sore spot on his head. "But that doesn't help us out of this."

"Maybe there's one last thing I can do for you, Tiny—and for Mick and Shotgun, too," Mike said.

"What do you mean?" Peter asked, placing a hand on Mike's non-golden shoulder.

"When I say I can't feel a thing on my right side, I mean it," the Texan said. "You could stand on my shoulder, and I wouldn't feel a thing. And then you could give Davy and Micky a boost out of here—and they could pull you out afterwards."

"What about you?" Micky asked, dreading the answer.

"Well, no matter what, I'm turning to gold anyway…"

"No!" Davy exclaimed. "We're gonna break the curse, and we're going to put you back to normal!"

"I don't want you three becoming statues trying to help me!" Mike shot back. "Nobody wins, then! I want the three of you to get out of here! Peter, up you go. Put your weight on my right shoulder."

"But—!"

"Now, Peter! We don't have time to argue!" the Texan bellowed, glancing at the gold encasing coming ever closer. "Until I'm fully cursed, I'm still in charge of the band, so I'm invoking my leadership privileges right up until the end!"

Peter gulped, but climbed onto Mike's shoulders, making sure to put more weight on his right side.

"Davy, you're next."

"But, Mike—"

"NOW!"

Davy winced, but did as Mike ordered; Peter helped him up to Mike's right shoulder, and then the blond cupped his hands to give Davy the boost he needed to grab the edge of the pit opening and climb out.

Mike looked to Micky next, silently ordering him to go.

"Look," the brunet said. "There has to be another—"

"_Micky_!"

The brunet quickly obeyed, getting a boost from Peter and getting help from Davy to get out of the pit.

Rico now stepped forwards towards Mike, and Davy scoffed out loud.

"You must be joking!" he said. "Micky, lower me down; I'll get Peter out."

"No!" Rico ordered. "You will rescue me first!"

Davy just gave him a sneer as Micky lowered him into the pit while holding onto his ankles, and they soon had Peter out.

"Ooh, access de-nied!" Mike said, smirking.

"Silence, Boor!" Rico snarled.

Peter, now holding onto Micky's ankles, lowered the brunet down into the pit so that he could get Davy within reach of Mike.

"Davy…" the Texan said, turning away from Rico. "I… The gold's gonna be very heavy…"

"You think that bothers us?" the percussionist asked. "We're not leaving you behind, Mike."

"Jones, there's no time for this!" Rico yelled, running over to him. The golden curse had reached the floor of the pit and was creeping closer towards them.

"Davy, please!" Cyndia said. "Get me out of here! Please! I love you! You know that!"

"You had a very funny way of showing it," Davy said, sardonically. "Mike, take my hand!"

"You'd choose him over me?!" Cydia shrieked.

"Shut up!" Rico snarled, shoving her back.

Cyndia shrieked, colliding with Elisa; the both of them stumbled back too far, into the encasing. They were golden within seconds, and Rico did pause to stare.

And that was when Mike made his move. Using his left hand, he grabbed the crook and the flail from Rico's hands; Davy got the message and yanked the medallion so that the string broke. Davy then gave Rico one more punch to the jaw.

Taking advantage of Rico's momentary senselessness, both Mike and Davy stuffed the items into their mouths and Davy took Mike's left hand in both of his own again. Peter used every ounce of his strength to pull them up; once Micky was up and out of the pit, they both pulled Mike and Davy out the rest of the way. The quartet took a moment to catch their collective breath, but then grinned.

"Come on!" Davy said, holding up the medallion. "We've got a curse to break. You… you're gonna be okay, Mike!"

"Let's hope so," Mike said, echoing Davy's words from earlier as he handed him the crook and the flail.

"…You're going to give those to me?" the little Englishman asked. "After everything that's happened?"

"You should be the one to break the curse," Mike said, simply. "I know you can do it. I just wanna see it happen."

"He's right, Davy," Peter said.

"Yeah, Man, this is your quest," Micky added.

"But what about the medallion messing with my head again?" Davy asked.

"I'm gonna believe that you'll be able to resist it," Mike said, confidently. Micky and Peter nodded in agreement. "Now let's get to that chamber. You know the way from here?"

"Yeah, but we need to hurry," Davy said, staring pointedly at the gold encasing getting closer.

They had turned to go when a frantic cry emitted from the pit.

"Jones, you can't leave me here!" Rico cried.

"After everything you've done to me—no, forget that. After everything you've done to my friends—to Mike especially—do you really think you have the right to ask for my help?!" Davy threw over his shoulder. "You made your own bed of gold—now you can lie in it! With any luck, you'll be free after I break the curse on Mike."

"What?!" Rico screamed. "Jones, you can't!"

"Davy…" Peter said, softly.

Davy looked to the blond in surprise.

"What?"

"Do you really want to be just like him?"

"I…" Davy trailed off, looking from him to Micky and Mike, who looked back at him with neutral expressions.

"JONES!"

Davy winced and sighed, handing the crook, flail, and medallion back to Mike. He, Micky, and Peter formed a human chain again, lifting Rico off of the ground just before the golden curse swept over the spot where he had been standing and now started moving up the walls of the pit.

"Remind me again," Davy said. "Why am I doing this?"

"Because you're too big a man," Mike responded, craning his neck to get a look. "Metaphorically speaking, of course…."

Davy smiled, but didn't say anything else as they pulled Rico out and left him shaking by the side of the pit. They soon headed down the corridor, leaving Rico behind as Davy led them towards the medallion chamber. Mike wasn't able to walk—especially since the encasing was working its way up his left leg and side, but the other three carried him along unflinchingly.

"I just hope we can get there in time," Davy said, worried. Would breaking the curse fail if Mike was completely consumed by it first?

He shuddered, not wanting to dwell on it.

"How much farther?" Peter asked.

"We turn to the right at the end of this corridor," Davy said. "There's a special wall panel to help us gain access to the chamber. But we have to be careful once we get there, though; there are more of those mechanical golden spiders set up in that room. It's literally a minefield of those things."

"We never fared well against just the one," Micky gulped. "You know which panels to avoid, right?"

"Yeah," Davy said. "It's going to be okay. We can just—"

He stopped dead in his tracks. Mike's left arm had been draped around his shoulders, as Davy was still carrying the three items, and free his hand had been holding onto the Texan's wrist. And he just realized that he could no longer feel a pulse.

"Mike…!"

"Hmm?" the Texan asked, seemingly unaffected by such a major physiological malfunction. The gold encasing was up to his collarbones; he was encased from the neck down, and it was now rapidly spreading down his extended left arm. "Whoa, there—you'd better let go of my arm, Davy; I don't want you getting any of these residuals…"

"But… But I couldn't feel…" Davy let go of Mike arm, instead getting a grip around his waist. He placed two fingers on Mike's neck and still could not feel a heartbeat.

Mike blinked.

"Whoa, I didn't realize…"

Micky and Peter looked horrified.

"Mike!" the blond exclaimed.

"Calm down, Shotgun—I'm still breathing. …Wait… No, I'm not."

"That gold must put you in some sort of suspended animation or something," Micky said. "Oh, this is _bad_."

"Well, it ain't good," Mike admitted. He sighed as his left arm and hand was fully encased, leaving him standing with his arms extended. "Dang, look at me. I look like a golden scarecrow, but I feel like the Tin Man."

"How can you be so calm at a time like this?" Peter asked, as Davy now headed forward to push the panel to open the door to the chamber.

"Because we're here," Mike said, simply. "So there's no need to panic—YIPE!"

The panel opened to reveal five of the giant mechanical gold spiders standing motionless in the room; in the back corner of the room was a pedestal—no doubt where the medallion was supposed to be placed in order to be smashed—but the spiders were obstinately in the way.

"Okay, there _is_ a need to panic!" Mike yelped. "We gotta—"

His words were cut off as the gold crept up his neck; his vocal cords had fallen to the suspended animation, and though his mouth moved, no sound emerged past his lips.

"Just hold on, Mike," Davy pleaded. "Please. We're here; you're gonna be okay."

"And they're not even moving," Peter added, looking at the spiders. "It's like they're sleeping…"

"You mean deactivated," Micky said. "But, yeah, we oughta move now before they do get activated."

They carried Mike inside, but Davy felt uneasy.

"This isn't right," he said. "They're not supposed to be out here—the spiders, I mean. They're supposed to fall from the ceiling and activate, like the other ones did."

"_What are you trying to say_?" Mike mouthed, silently, his head tilted back so that the encasing would proceed to the back of his head and spare his face for last.

"Someone already activated the trap tiles," Davy responded, still able to read his lips despite the awkward pose.

"That's right, Jones," Rico said, stepping out into view. "It was me."

"Whaaaaaaaaa…?!" Micky exclaimed. "No way!"

"We left you back there!" Peter gasped. "How did you get here before us?!"

"I used a different way—one that only I know about," Rico replied.

Davy frowned; there was something about Rico's voice that seemed… off. But now wasn't the time to wonder about that now.

"How could you know about any other way here?!" Davy demanded.

"The same way I can order these mechanical golden spiders to do my bidding," he replied, snapping his fingers.

The doors behind them slammed shut, and the spiders all started stirring. They soon launched themselves at the quartet; they tried to run, but, as before, there was no escaping the flailing legs—and certainly not from five of them.

They were all sent flying in different directions. Mike's golden body hit the floor with a loud _clang_. Unable to move, he could only shift his gaze back and forth, silently calling out for his bandmates.

"Mike…!" Peter exclaimed.

He and Micky rushed to help, but soon found themselves cornered by the five spiders.

"Guys…!" Davy yelled, not sure who to help first.

"Forget about us!" Micky ordered. "Break the curse!"

Davy nodded, casting one more glance back at Mike as he headed for the pedestal, placing the medallion on the spot indented there. But Rico pulled him away from it before he could use the crook and flail to smash it.

"I can't let you do that, Jones. The more the curse spreads, the stronger I become."

Davy shuddered under the inhumanly cold touch of Rico, and then his eyes widened.

"Who are you?" he asked. "You're not Rico; you're talking through him. That's how you knew about the other way into this room, and how you're able to control those mechanical spiders!"

Micky and Peter, despite being surrounded, took a moment to exchange a baffled glance with each other.

"Davy, what're you talking about?" Peter asked.

"There's something in his voice," Davy said. "It wasn't there before—I'm only hearing it now…"

Rico's eyebrows arched, but he was smirking in amusement at the look of dawning comprehension on Davy's face.

"It's the same voice I heard coming from the medallion!" Davy gasped. "The one that was whispering to me and making me all horrible and greedy…!"

"So you've figured it out, have you?" Rico said, his body now glowing with a golden aura. The aura grew brighter, forming a large, transparent golden image that was bedecked with ancient Egyptian regalia. Rico was still visible through this golden spirit that had appeared, but his facial expressions made it clear that his words were no longer his own.

"This greedy vessel—Rico, as you call him—got me this far," he said. "But, in the end, he was just another materialistic fool like all the others. You, though… You are the real prize here, Jones."

"I'm… what…?"

"Ah, forgive me, where are my manners?" the spirit asked, as the quartet looked on in horror. "Let me introduce myself to you, Jones. I am the Forbidden One."


	20. When We Said Our Last Goodbyes

Aside from the creaking and skittering of the mechanical spiders, utter silence filled the chamber.

"I'd say it was impossible if it wasn't for the fact that we're staring right at him," Micky said. He let out a yelp as a spider tried to take advantage of his and Peter's distraction. "AAGH! Davy, forget about who or what he is—once your break the curse, it won't matter!"

"Right!" Davy exclaimed, raising the crook and the flail to smash the medallion again.

He let out a shuddering gasp as one of the Forbidden One's hands grabbed the top of his head.

"DAVY!" Micky and Peter yelled.

They tried to run towards him, but were rewarded with a giant spider leg to the stomach. To add insult to injury, the mechanical creatures were now secreting sticky, golden webbing, entrapping the would-be rescuers.

"There," the Forbidden One said. "Now none of them will be able to interrupt. It's just you and me, Jones. The boor can't talk—he can't tell you what you can and can't do anymore. You know that after all you've been through, some gold would be worth your many efforts. Not just anyone can make it here, you know. You deserve a reward."

"I don't want a reward!" Davy shot back. "I want to break the curse!"

He tried to bring the crook and flail down on the medallion, but found that his arms couldn't move.

"What… what's happening to me…?" he whispered. "Why can't I move?"

The Forbidden One laughed.

"Because you are no different than Rico. Greed resides in your heart, just as is does in his!"

"No!" Peter yelled back. "Not our Davy! You're the one messing with him!"

"Don't you listen to him, Davy!" Micky agreed. "Fight him off! You can do it—for Mike! For all of us!"

The Forbidden One laughed in amusement as Davy looked back at Micky and Peter helplessly, and then back at Mike. Only the Texan's face remained flesh and blood—and that, too, would soon fall to the curse. But he was looking at Davy with pleading eyes, yet silently mouthing words of encouragement.

Fueled by this, Davy tried again to lower his arms, but still found that he could not. Nor could he pull free of the Forbidden One's grip upon his head.

"You are absolutely powerless against me now!" the Forbidden One sneered in amusement. "Just where is the great power you boasted about 3000 years ago, the last time we met?"

Davy blinked.

"The last time we met—3000 years ago?!" he repeated, baffled.

"You do not remember?" the Forbidden One asked. "You trespassed in my domain in Egypt, three millennia ago. I was more than a spirit then; I was a flesh-and-blood beast who commanded a hoard of wealth when you, Jones—going by the name of Djonessu, which the locals called you—turned me into this trapped spirit!"

"…You are off your rocker!" Davy said, trying to pull away.

"You boasted that you held a power that was more powerful than any spell of mine," the Forbidden One insisted. "And you used it—whatever it was—to seal me away! Had it not been for the medallion being able to hold my spirit, I would have been forced to depart to _Duat_—the afterlife."

"It's not possible!" the English boy said. "How could I even have been around 3000 years ago?!"

"I know not how you did it, but do you really think me to be so much of a fool as to not know the face of the one who reduced me to this?!" the Forbidden One hissed. "When this fool Rico awakened me the first time he saw my crook in the museum, I heard your name again—and when I realized that he was being antagonistic towards you, as well, I could take advantage of that."

"Then it was you who convinced Rico to get on Davy's case and not give him a moment's rest!" Micky angrily accused, struggling against the gold webbing.

"Yes; it was my hope that, in an attempt to outdo Rico, Jones would accept me—allow me into his heart and let me harness the power with which he used to defeat me 3000 years ago," the Forbidden One snarled. "But one thing stood in my way!"

They all turned to almost-fully-encased Mike on the ground. Only a small mask of skin remained around his eyes—eyes that looked pleadingly to Davy.

"Mike…" Davy whispered, softly. "Oh, why didn't I listen to you…?" He turned back to the Forbidden One, tears in his own eyes. "Please… please let him go. Set him free. He was just looking out for me—just like he's always been doing since I met him. He's never asked a thing in exchange."

The Forbidden One merely smirked.

"So. You took away my power—the thing I held most dear. Now it looks as though I've taken away what you hold most dear. And the other two…" He leered at Micky and Peter. "They'll be next. You won't have anyone to protect you."

His transparent hands gripped both the sides of Davy's head; the spirit's entire form started glowing with a golden light.

"Let me into your soul," he hissed. "I nearly made it—you almost listened to me. And without the boor to interrupt, you will listen to me this time."

"Davy won't ever stop fighting you!" Peter yelled. "You think he's going to go along with you, after what you did to Mike?"

"Yes," the Forbidden One hissed. "Because the precious friend you idolize is just as fallible as the rest of the world—and will succumb to greed, just like the rest of them."

The glowing of the spirit increased, and Davy let out a quiet gasp as his own body glowed with a golden aura.

"Do you see that, Jones? You are nothing special. You want wealth. And you know I can give it to you."

Davy's eyes started to glaze over; his irises were flickering from their normal brown to an eerie gold.

"DAVY!" Micky and Peter both yelled.

Their voices, and the painful absence of a third, caused Davy's eyes to snap back to normal. He forced himself to turn his head and look at Mike.

Only one of the Texan's brown eyes remained normal now as the gold encasing began to close in on it—the one part of him still flesh and blood… still alive…

"I have to… save him…" Davy said, softly.

Once again, he tried to lower his arms, which were still holding the crook and flail to smash the medallion, but his arms still would not move.

Davy's eyes flickered back to their normal brown, and he gritted his teeth, straining against the magical hold that the Forbidden One had his arms in.

"Still fighting, are you?" the spirit sneered.

"Mi…ke…"

"Ah, I see. You still believe that you owe something to that boor," the Forbidden One said. "But have you considered that there are things far more valuable than some backwards fool?"

"Get away from me…!" Davy hissed, trying to break free of the Forbidden One's hold upon his head.

"There is something you need to understand, Jones. Gold can give you things that those fools cannot. Why settle for three fools to serve you when wealth can bring you friends of a much higher caliber than the ones you've settled for?"

"If I'd wanted friends of a higher caliber, I would've gotten them!" Davy snapped. "I want the friends I have now—and that includes Mike!"

"Why not have them all—including your precious boor?" the Forbidden One offered.

"…What…?"

"All that is gold can be manipulated by me," the spirit said.

To demonstrate, he moved his hand to manipulate the golden Mike so that he now stood on his feet. Mike's gaze of his non-cursed eye darted back and forth, panicking.

"And you have seen the spiders," the Forbidden One. "I can make gold completely sentient. Accept me, Jones, and I will give life back to the statue of your pet."

Mike's eye widened as Davy looked back at the spirit.

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes," the spirit said, smirking that he had, at last, found something to bargain with. "He will serve you as selflessly as before—but with a considerably new look."

"I could save him, then," Davy said, quietly. "That's how I could save him…!"

"No!" Peter cried. "Davy, no! You know Mike—you know he'd never go for that! He would never want you to make a deal like that!"

"He's always sacrificing himself for us!" Davy shot back. "If this is a way I can help him—!"

"It's not even about that, Man!" Micky added. "You really think Mike's going to be _happy_ walking around like that?! Unable to feel anything—unable to… be the Mike we all loved so much!"

"Why do you need their approval?" the Forbidden One asked, impatiently. "Accept my deal. You save your friend. You become the wealthiest man in the world. Where is the downside in that?"

He placed both transparent hands on the sides of Davy's face again.

"Just accept my deal," the spirit said, softly—hypnotically. The golden aura around Davy glower brighter as his eyes started to glaze over once more. "Yes, that's right. You let me into your heart, and I will give you everything you ask for."

"No, Davy!" Micky pleaded, thrashing against the webbing. "Davy, you can't do this to us—to Mike!"

Peter's eyes suddenly widened as he got an idea.

"Yes, he can, Micky," he said, loudly so that Davy could hear. "We can't tell him what to do. As our leader, Mike probably could've but he can't talk anymore. None of us can stop Davy if this is what he really wants. Mike would probably disagree and tell us to stop him. But who is he, to tell Davy what do? Even if he's been looking out for him longer than you and I have… If Davy wants to throw all that away, then it's his choice. Maybe he knows something we don't. I bet even Mike would agree to that—Davy's much more savvy than he is, and he knows it… Heck, he's even said it himself. …And I'll be willing to bet that it's only just a tad of some of the things he actually believes about himself."

Davy let out a shuddering gasp, recalling how Mike had put himself down before. He cast a glance back at the Texan, just in time to see a solitary tear slip from his eye again, seconds before the golden curse claimed the last flesh-and-blood part of him.

Only the lifeless, golden statue was all that remained of his best friend.

Peter's heart plummeted as Micky let out a defeated gasp. He had hoped that, thanks to his plan, he could've gotten Davy to snap out of the spirit's control quickly enough so that Davy could've broken the curse before Mike had been fully encased. Without Mike to help him fight, would they now lose Davy, too?

This train of thought came to a screeching halt as a truly horrifying sound filled the chamber—an anguished cry of despair erupted from the English boy's lips, screaming for the friend who could no longer answer.

With his friend's name on his lips and tears in his eyes, Davy brought his arms down, the glowing ends of the crook and flail striking the medallion with the force of every ounce of strength that he possessed.

The spirit let out a roar of pure rage as it was suddenly aglow with an even brighter, blinding golden light. Davy yelled out again as the light consumed both him and Rico.

"DAVY!" Micky yelled. "DAV—!"

He was abruptly cut off by another glow—the golden statue in the center of the chamber was now glowing with a golden aura, as well—a glow that was growing brighter and brighter by the second—especially around the statue's head and hands.

"Mike!?" Peter cried.

Before Micky could even open his mouth to call out to him, too, eruptions of golden light shot from Mike's head and hands. Micky and Peter now struggled even harder against the webbing trapping them, trying desperately to reach him. Finally, the webbing snapped, and the two crawled free from it as the spiders began to shut down.

That was when a sound reached their ears—Mike letting out an exclamation of surprise just before the glowing abruptly stopped. Mike still stood in the center of the chamber, flesh and blood again, gasping as he realized this. The Texan quickly gave himself a once-over, taking inventory.

"Feet… legs… abdomen… chest… arms… hands… fingers…" He gave a wan look at his crooked finger. "Still wonky…" He quickly felt his face and hair, an ecstatic grin spreading across his face. "Davy, you did it! Ah, I knew my little buddy wouldn't let me… down…" He turned towards the pedestal, and the grin was wiped from his face and replaced with a look of horror as he saw Rico and Davy both lying motionless on the stone floor. "No, no, _no_!"

He tried to run, but his legs, still locked up from just being released from the curse, caused him to trip and fall as Micky and Peter reached him. Micky gently held the Texan up as Peter gathered their bandmate in his arms and carried him back to Mike.

"It's okay," he said, softly, handing him over to the Texan's waiting arms. "He's just knocked out."

Mike exhaled in relief.

"Come on, Tiny—wake up. You won; you can sleep all you want later. I just want you to wake up and see that you won and you saved us all—the curse is broken. You pulled through for us… for me."

A chill suddenly swept the room, and Micky yelped as he saw a wispy, golden mist seep from Rico's body and creep towards Davy. Mike's shoulders went rigid, and he quickly drew Davy into a protective hug.

"Get away from him!" he hissed at the mist. "It's over, Man! You lost! The curse is broken!"

"_And that is why I must claim him_," the Forbidden One's voice whispered from the glowing mist. "_I cannot remain in this world as a spirit, and I have no desire to pass through to Duat. I will take him as a vessel—and the best time to do so is when he is completely incapable of fighting back_!"

"We'll fight for him!" Peter vowed, removing his shoe and trying to swat the mist away. Micky tried to blow the mist away. Neither of them achieved anything for their endeavors, of course, and the mist now penetrated through Mike's protective embrace and started to swirl around the unconscious English boy.

"NO!" Mike cried. "Davy! Davy, you have to wake up! You have to fight him off! You can win—you've proven that you can win! The power's inside you, remember? You just have to use it!"

"_No_," hissed the Forbidden One. "_I know not what this power was that he used to defeat me, but now I will harness it for myself and recast the curse even stronger than before! All three of you will be statues for eternity! But first…_" The glow around Davy grew brighter again. _"What is this great power that granted you so much strength?_"

The mist tried to seep its way through Davy, but, suddenly, the golden glow ceased as the mist was repelled.

"Davy!?" Mike exclaimed, hopefully, as the Forbidden One shrieked in angry frustration again.

The English boy's eyes opened, revealing them to be their normal brown. He shook the cobwebs from his head as the Forbidden One hissed at him furiously.

"_What is this?!_" the spirit demanded with a screech. "_You are the first and only one who could not give into the temptation of the wealth I offered—and even now, you somehow stopped me while unconscious! What is the secret of the power you hold?! How were you able to do this?!_"

Davy just gave the spirit a triumphant smirk.

"'Because, Baby, in the final analysis, love is power,'" he quoted. "'That's where the power's at!'"

With a final roar of rage, the golden mist vanished; the spirit had departed for the afterlife. Davy stared at the empty spot for a moment before smiling at Peter and Micky, and then he looked up at Mike.

"You're you again," he said, keeping his voice calm despite the fact it was noticeably quivering.

"Thanks to you," the Texan said, softly.

They both exchanged a smile, blinking back a few tears as the full weight of their narrow escape fell upon them. And then, they simultaneously hugged each other. A wave from Mike's hand instructed Micky and Peter to join in, and all four of them were soon in a triumphant group hug.

Another trial had been won—with their friendship having grown stronger than ever before.

**Epilogue**

The quartet was still in the group hug when Rico awoke. He rolled his eyes at the sight of them before doing a double-take and realizing that Mike was back to normal.

A horrified gasp issued from his lips as he saw the remains of the shattered medallion.

"Jones, what did you do!?" he yelled. "You've destroyed it!"

The quartet looked up, staring at Rico in collective disbelief.

"You _are_ kidding, right?" Micky asked.

"Jones, you were an absolute fool—all the wealth, all the gold in the world could've been yours, and you threw it all away!" Rico snapped. "And for what?! For that boor, and two more inept flunkies!?"

Davy opened his mouth to argue, but then realized the futility of it. Rico had learned nothing; what was the point?

"Yes," he said, simply.

A part of him pitied Rico. His search for treasure had left him friendless and convinced that wealth was the most valuable thing.

"You and I have very different definitions of wealth, Rico. You look at me in my shabby little beachhouse with these guys here, and you think I've got nothing going for me. Well, I happen to think I'm the richest person in the world. But I don't expect you to understand, seeing as though you probably think I'm an idiot who doesn't know what he's saying, so let's just agree to disagree, shall we?"

Rico looked genuinely baffled as Davy turned back to his bandmates and led the way out. Quickly realizing that he did not know the way out, he followed them at a distance.

A series of yells from up ahead soon came upon them as Cyndia, Elisa, Sydney, and his cronies headed their way, fury in their eyes as they all rounded on Rico.

"Hoo, boy…" Mike said, trying hard not to smirk. "Looks like Rico learned what happens when you treat your only followers like they're expendable…"

"You know what I think?" Micky said, with an evil smirk on his face. "They seemed to be in a very involved conversation; I'd sure hate to interrupt it, wouldn't you?"

"I sure would," Peter said, smiling a mischievous smile.

Slowly, the quartet moved to shuffle off, casually whistling "Last Train to Clarkesville," but soon came across a familiar face.

"Agent Honeywell?" Mike asked, blinking in surprise at the CIS man, as a whole bunch of his fellow agents quickly swooped in and began to apprehend Rico and his team.

"That's right," Davy grinned. "I figured he owed us a favor after we helped him capture Boris that one time, so I asked a new friend to deliver a message to him and help him find us."

"What friend?" the Texan asked. He blinked as Professor Song stepped into view, a smile on her face. "Um… hi, there. …Have we met before?"

The smile faded from her face, a growing sadness rising in her eyes.

"Never mind that," she said, shaking his extended hand.

"I gave Grandfather's notes to Professor Song and asked her to lead Honeywell to us," Davy explained. "She helped me translate all of the ancient script in them; I couldn't have led you all through here without her."

"Oh, really?" Mike asked. "Well, listen, I owe you big for all your help, you know. If you hadn't helped Davy out, I'd probably still be a statue back there. So, thanks, Professor… er, I don't believe I caught your name?"

"Professor River Song," she said, softly.

"Well, Professor Song, if there's any way I can make it up to you…"

"Oh, please; there's no need for that," she insisted. "Take your friends and go home—the CIS has a plane to take us all back. Trust me when I say that there's no need to make it up to me."

Mike nodded, smiling as he turned back to his bandmates, and Professor Song's voice lowered to a whisper.

"You've already done it," she said.

Her whisper went unheard on account of another voice filling the temple corridors.

"—You and I are _through_!" Cyndia was shrieking at Rico, as they were led along by the CIS men. "Absolutely through! I'm sticking with Davy—once he clears my name!"

"Ahh, no," Davy scoffed.

"What do you mean?" she asked, turning her doe eyes back to the percussionist. "Davy, you know that Rico was using me; I do love you—I really do!"

"Sure—only when it's absolutely convenient for you!" Davy countered. "Mike was right about you all along. You're on your own now, Cyndia. And if you think that I'd vouch for you when you were a willing player in Rico's little game that almost cost me the life of one of my best friends, you'd better think again."

"That's right!" Micky quipped. "He's not your steppin' stone!"

"I couldn't have said it better, Micky," Davy agreed, as Peter applauded. "_Goodbye_, Cyndia."

The English boy looked up at the Texan, who smiled back and gave him a nod of approval.

* * *

Within the hour, Rico's circle was in custody and under guard in the back of the CIS plane. Micky, up in the front, couldn't resist turning back to thumb his nose at them all.

"Don't antagonize them!" Peter chided in the seat next to them. "They'll probably get parole or something and come back after us!"

"Oh, come on—after what they tried to do to us—to Mike? They'll be put away for life!"

"I think a healthy dose of cynicism is in order here," Professor Song said. "Rico is more than likely to get some good lawyers—he'll probably bargain to get a reduced sentence. The ladies will probably manage to get a lighter sentence, as well. Sydney… Well, that's anyone's guess. He has a history of smuggling, but I wouldn't put it past him to find a way out of a harsh sentence, too."

Mike and Davy glanced at the conversation going on across the aisle.

"So, basically, we're only going to be safe for a short amount of time?" Davy asked, quietly.

"We'll be okay," Mike said. He let out a very loud yawn, and as he exhaled, a small cloud of gold dust blew out of his mouth. He blinked at it as Davy stared, concerned. "Residuals from the cursebreaking; they'll probably stop on their own soon enough. Don't you worry, Tiny; I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'm just tired. It's draining, you know—being cursed." He paused. "You know, for that moment when I was fully under… I was still aware of what was going on. I think that would've been the worst part about being like that if the curse hadn't broken—that I would be able to hear all of you being so upset and missing me, and I couldn't do a thing about it. And I'd have to stay like that forever."

"I'd have missed you so much," Davy said. "That's why I considered the Forbidden One's offer of making you sentient gold—I wasn't a hundred percent sure that breaking the medallion would restore you."

"Took a lot of guts for you turn him down, then," Mike said. "I'm glad you did. Even if breaking the medallion wouldn't have brought me back, what Micky said about me not wanting to live a life like that was true. You couldn't really call it a life."

Davy looked up at Mike.

"I'm glad I didn't, either," he said. He sighed. "One thing still confuses me, though. What on earth did he mean when he said that I stopped him 3000 years ago? How is that even possible?"

"Reincarnation?" Mike offered, with a shrug. "I dunno. I wouldn't worry about it, though; it's all in the past, right?"

"Guess so," Davy said.

Mike smiled, and then yawned again, exhaling another small cloud of gold dust. He grumbled quietly to himself as he rubbed his eyes.

"…You should get some sleep," Davy instructed. "You need to get your strength back after all this."

"Eh, I just can't get comfortable…"

But Davy just smiled in response.

"You want to borrow my shoulder?" he quoted.

Mike looked to him first with surprise, and then with gratitude.

"I think I'll take you up on that," he said, using the same reply Davy had given him.

The weary Texan rested his head on the English boy's shoulder; Micky and Peter, not as oblivious to their bandmates' conversation as they seemed, wished him goodnight, which he returned with a wave of thanks. Within minutes, he was asleep.

And as Davy engaged in quiet conversation with Micky and Peter, he cast frequent glances back at his sleeping friend, just to reassure himself that this was, indeed, real, and that Mike would be okay.

It had been quite alarming, seeing the effect that the Forbidden One had on people—himself included. But he knew exactly what had saved him—the knowledge that, years ago, he had already acquired a treasure far more valuable than all the gold and jewels in the world put together.

And it was a treasure that he knew he would hold close to him forevermore.

**The End**

* * *

_Notes: There, it is finished! As I mentioned, I'm being deliberately vague as to River's connection to Mike, as I know that everyone in the Doctor Nez subfandom have their own theories and headcanons; I do have my own headcanon, though. And speaking of Doctor Nez, yes, the entire cursebreaking scene was meant to be one huge shoutout to "The End of Time."  
A huge thanks to everyone who read and reviewed! I'll be using next week to catch up on a couple requests for Lone Star and Union Jack, but the Red Sky sequel will start the week after that; in the meantime, keep an eye on my tumblr, where I'll probably post a couple teasers and, perhaps, a prelude. And yes, there is a huge foreshadowing to the upcoming fic in this final chapter. I should also mention that this fic takes place before my "Nesmith and Jones" oneshot, while the Red Sky sequel will take place after the oneshot, and that is rather plot-relevant, as my readers will soon see. Thanks again, and I hope my readers find my future endeavors just as entertaining!_


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